Memento Mori
by Lizard23
Summary: Set seven years after Voldemort's defeat, the wizarding world is anything but the long awaited utopia so many anticipated. Hermione must come to terms with the ghosts of her past, and in the process, discovers a shocking, hidden truth. Post DH. HG/SS.
1. Chapter 1

_"If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome."_

-Anne Bradstreet

**Chapter 1**

The first time Hermione Granger met the so called, "Greasy-Bat-of-the-Dungeons", it didn't go well.

Which was a shame, but certainly not a surprise to her now, some fourteen years later. Rather, it was her eleven-year-old self that had a difficult time grasping the immediate dislike that emanated from the Potions master.

She remembered the day well enough - Professor Snape had strode into the cool dungeon classroom dramatically, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him with a resounding _thud_. It would be, Hermione reflected ruefully, the first of many slammed doors while in the Potion's classroom.

She had been overly prepared, or so she thought. Having reread the first four chapters of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, Hermione fully expected to please the Potions master, to have him smile down at her fondly as the other professors had, to praise her enthusiasm.

What she recalled best that day, however, was having her paradigms forcefully rocked, literally knocking her off her feet.

"Potter!" Hermione remembered Snape snapping. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_The Draught of Living Death!_

Her hand flew so quickly into air, her wrist had nearly snapped.

Beside her, Harry had shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know, sir."

_Me! Pick me! I know!_

"Tut, tut," Snape had sneered, his lip curling. "Fame clearly isn't everything."

His black eyes had looked everywhere _but _her, ignoring the arm waving high above her head.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

_A goat's stomach!_

Again, Hermione had thrown her hand into the air, as high as she literally could without leaving her seat.

Harry had glanced in her direction, looking increasingly anxious. "I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Snape still pointedly ignored Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

_Oh, honestly! They're the same plant! _

Hermione remembered, with a small smile, at Snape's last question to Harry that she had literally stood up, her patience wearing, stretching her hand toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," Harry had replied quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

_Finally! _Hermione had thought, nearly rolling her eyes.

But Snape had none of it.

"Sit down," he had snapped at her, his black eyes flashing. Taken aback, Hermione had literally fallen back into her chair, confused and hurt.

And so, Hermione's first encounter with perhaps one of Britain's greatest wizards had gone less well than she had hoped.

"Hermione," the distant voice of Minerva McGonagall called, breaking Hermione from her reverie. "Goodness, child. Down here again?"

Hermione turned, her thick hair blowing with the summer evening breeze. She smiled softly as the older woman made her way carefully down the little pathway that led to where she stood, looking down at the gleaming headstones of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

The Headmistress didn't bother hiding the disapproval from her voice.

Minerva McGonagall appeared mostly unchanged from what Hermione remembered as a student. Her hair was still neatly fashioned in a tight, meticulous bun; her back still proud and straight, her eyes sharp and bright. And since the deaths of her parents, the Headmistress had been every bit as much like family to her as Harry and Ron had.

"Headmistress," Hermione greeted the older woman respectfully.

"Hermione," the Headmistress tutted, with a disapproving click of her tongue. "How many times have I asked you not to call me that in private conversation?"

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Minerva."

Minerva nodded, though her mouth was still resolved into a firm line. They stayed like that for a few quiet moments, the warm breeze gently whipping their robes at their ankles as they both stared at the white marble in front of them. A few birds that were brave enough to enter the nearby Forbidden Forest called loudly to one another.

A look of sadness passed over Minerva's face briefly before she regained her composure. "This is the third time you've been down here this week."

It wasn't a question.

Hermione's back stiffened. "I wasn't aware I was being followed."

Minerva sighed, her eyes softening. "Hermione, dear, you know as well as anyone that there are some things even magic cannot undo," she said gently. "Albus and Severus have been gone from us for a long time, now. And you know my office is always open to you if you ever need to speak with Albus' portrait on any matter. When the man isn't inebriated or singing, he's rather pleasant to talk to."

Hermione closed her eyes and chuckled softly.

"And Severus," Minerva trailed off, suddenly looking infinitely sorrowful. "Well, Severus can now rest peacefully. And that is something that was denied him much of his adult life. We should feel happy for his solace."

Hermione opened her eyes and stared ahead unblinking at the nearly identical white tombs. "It seems so long ago," she whispered, somewhat despondently.

"Yes," Minerva agreed with a terse nod. "But as in all things, life goes on. And we, as survivors, must choose to go forward in a way that is fitting to honor and represent those whom we have left behind. Your decision to become a professor was a worthy one, Hermione. The wizarding world expected nothing less."

Hermione nodded, though her gaze still lingered on the white marble. "Last year was a disaster. I still have some big shoes to fill."

Minerva took a step forward and took Hermione's hand in her own. "Transfiguration is perhaps one of the most difficult subjects to teach, but I would not have appointed you to that post if I did not think you capable, Hermione. You expect too much of yourself. You did wonderfully your first year. And with each passing term you will gain experience and it will become easier. You'll see, dear. You are still so very young. There has never been a professor appointed here as young as you."

She gave Hermione's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I regret to inform you, however, that the students will always be a handful," she smiled and held her head high. "Though I have _yet_ to met a group of students that gave me as much trouble as you, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Potter did."

Hermione smiled warmly and turned to the older woman. "I can't even begin to imagine. Though, in all fairness, I truly _did_ try to talk some sense into the two of them on more occasions than I can remember."

Minerva waved her hand dismissively in the air. "Oh, I don't doubt that you did, dear. In fact, I'm quite certain that if you hadn't befriended those two boys, they would have gotten themselves killed before the end of their first year."

Hermione chuckled lightly. "Not much has changed there. They _still_ choose not to listen to me. Ron's become rather good at feigning ignorance."

Minerva offered a small smile and released Hermione's hand. They were both quiet for a few moments, Hermione breathing in the deep scent of pine, Minerva watching the younger woman warily. At length the Headmistress cleared her throat and said softly, finally, "Hermione, you know that if anything is bothering you that you can always speak with me. What is it, child? I know you well enough, I think, to know when something is amiss."

Hermione tensed and turned back to the white marbled tombs, her gaze fixed on Professor Snape's name. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. At length, she opened them again; the last glimmer of daylight lit up their depths for a brief second, and then the sun flickered out beyond the massive trees of the Forbidden Forest. She swallowed and kicked at a small rock in the tall grass. "I'm sorry," she said helplessly, after a moment. "I don't know what's gotten into me." She shook her head. "I just...I had a dream about that night...and now I can't get it out of my head."

Minerva frowned. "The night your parents were - "

"No," Hermione shook her head, cutting the older woman off quickly. "The night of the final battle. The night Professor Snape was killed." She swallowed and turned to Minerva, utterly lost. "His face...the _agony_...I can't shake the image. And every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see the snake biting his throat."

She was looking at the ground, at anywhere _but_ her former Head of House. But she heard the soft footfalls come closer, and then felt a hand on her shoulder. It was then that she realized she was trembling. At the Headmistress's touch, she stilled herself.

"I don't know why," Hermione admitted, still looking at her feet, "after all this time, that I'm having some sort of post-traumatic stress episode," she laughed grimly. "You'd think I'd be past all that now."

Reluctantly, she met Minerva's gaze, like a young child refusing to take their medicine.

"Hermione," the Headmistress said gently, grief and compassion etched into her former student's name. "We all grieve in our own way, dear. And in our own _time_. You went through an ordeal that night. You witnessed something _beyond_ horrible. And experiences like that, unfortunately, rarely leave us. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are stronger than you know."

"I _do_ feel embarrassed, though," Hermione said softly, half to herself, her cheeks flushing slightly from her mentor's compliment. "If Professor Snape could hear this conversation, I'd bet he'd be rolling over in his grave."

"I have no doubt of that," Minerva replied mildly. "If he were buried here, I assure you, he would be doing just that."

Hermione's brow shot up into her hairline. "What do you mean, _if _he were buried here?"

Minerva appeared mildly startled. "Surely you knew." But at Hermione's perplexed and anxious face, she continued more slowly, "They, they never found the body, dear. I thought Mr. Potter would have told you as much."

Hermione's head whipped around to the white marble with the carved inscription of Professor Snape's name. She felt her heart pound more frantically in her chest, her breath coming in more frequent intervals. And then she closed her eyes and felt sick. If Professor Snape wasn't buried beneath her, where was his body? Why had no one found it? Had the Death Eaters returned to the Shrieking Shack and taken it? After Harry's vocal duel with Voldemort in the Main Hall, everyone had learned of Snape's true allegiances - the Death Eaters included. Had they defiled his body in some way? Shuddering, she almost _did_ feel like she would retch at that particular thought.

Reaching out with a trembling hand to steady herself, her fingers grasped the rounded curve of Professor Snape's headstone. With a shaky breath, she asked, "But who would take it?" She opened her eyes and looked at Minerva in the dimming twilight. "What could they possibly want with his body?" And then more angrily, "After everything he went through...why couldn't they just leave him be?"

Minerva stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the younger woman's shoulders, pulling her away from the little cemetery and toward the lighted castle. "Hermione," she said, with an odd note of contrition in her voice. "It's best not to think about such things. Dwelling on that which you cannot change will only drive a person mad. Come, dear. Let's get you some tea."

Hermione laughed raggedly. "Yes, a spot of tea is a _fitting_ replacement for a man's life."

"You are far too young to sound so bitter," Minerva scolded, looking over at her sharply. "Now come inside and drink something warm. I won't hear another word about it."

Numbly, Hermione made her way forward with Minerva's steadying hand on her back, putting one foot in front on the other. And, as had happened innumerable times in the past week, she closed her eyes, felt one hot tear gather in the corner, and thought of the night she saw Severus Snape die.

The cold, clear sound of Voldemort's voice is not an easy thing to forget.

Hermione remembered hiding in the Invisibility Cloak with Harry and Ron that fateful night. She remembered peering through the empty crate into a dimly lit room. She remembered Nagini, swirling and coiling like a serpent underwater, safe in her enchanted, starry sphere.

She remembered Severus Snape sensing the danger around him.

"I have thought long and hard, Severus...Do you know why I have called you back from the battle?" Voldemort's shrill voice had asked.

"No, my Lord, but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter."

"I have told you, no!" Voldemort had hissed. Hermione remembered catching the glint of red in the monster's eyes as he turned around, swishing his cloak like the serpent he truly was. "My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!"

"My Lord, there can be no question, surely - ?"

" - but there _is_ a question, Severus. There is."

"My Lord - let me go to the boy - "

"All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," Voldemort had said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner...and I think I have the answer."

Hermione remembered swallowing thickly.

Professor Snape did not speak.

"Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen."

"My Lord - "

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine."

Hermione remembered stuffing her fist into her mouth to keep from crying out.

"My Lord!" Snape had protested, and Hermione heard the tremble in his voice.

"It cannot be any other way," Voldemort had said. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

And Voldemort had swiped the air with the Elder Wand. The snake's cage rolled through the air, and before Professor Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort had spoken something shrill in Parseltongue.

There was a terrible scream. Ron had pulled Hermione back down to his side as she struggled against him, to do what - she did not know. But the scream had been awful, and her eyes had filled with tears. She pulled herself back up, fighting with Ron's grasp, to look through the empty crate and saw Snape's face losing the little color it had left; it had whitened as his black eyes widened, and then the snake's fangs had pierced his neck.

Hermione saw his knees give way and he did fall.

"I regret it," Voldemort had said, coolly.

And then he was gone, without regret or remorse. And Hermione had cried after Harry as he hauled himself out of the little space and crawled into the room.

She had followed, of course, and had nearly sobbed when she saw Snape's long fingers try to staunch the bloody wound at his neck.

_A blood replenishing potion? What spell, dammit? What spell would work? Think!_

But Hermione couldn't think of a spell to stay the blood and the gaping wound. She remembered a terrible rasping, gurgling noise that came from Snape's throat as he had pulled Harry down to him. And the moment she realized he was giving Harry a memory, she at least had the presence of mind to conjure a flask - but only just.

And then he had said the words that Hermione had thought on every day since he had been killed.

"Look...at...me..."

She remembered the depths of his dark eyes flicker as something vanished. Without warning, they had become fixed, blank, and empty. And then she remembered sobbing into her sleeve as Snape's hand thudded to the floor.

"Hermione."

"Hermione?"

"Hermione!"

Hermione shook her head in a vain attempt to clear the awful memory, and she turned to look at Minerva, still slightly dazed. What the Headmistress saw in Hermione's eyes in that moment, she did not know; but Hermione watched her mentor swallow thickly, and the older woman briskly hurried her through the massive entrance gate to Hogwarts.

"Perhaps I should fetch Poppy - "

"No, Minerva. Really, I'm fine. I think," she rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I just need some sleep, is all."

But sleep really was the last thing Hermione wanted. Sleep was where she saw Professor Snape's face - the devastation in his black eyes, writhing in agony. It was where she bolted awake in sweat and exhaustion, her breath shaky, as she tried to shake the image from her mind. An image, she knew, that would be ingrained in her memory for the rest of her days.

"Actually, Minerva," Hermione said pensively, after a moment, "I have a few errands I need to run. I shouldn't be too late."

Minerva raised a skeptical eyebrow over the rim of her glasses. But after a brief hesitation, she said levelly, "See that you aren't, Hermione. You know how Argus gets when people come parading in and out of the castle late at night. And while I know you are old enough to look after yourself, _do_ be careful. These are still perilous times, as you well know."

Hermione offered a little half-smile. "Of course, Minerva. I'll be back shortly." And then with an effort to lighten the moment, she added, "You needn't worry - it's not Harry or Ron you're dealing with."

The Headmistress nodded, repressing a small smile of her own. "Thank Merlin for that."

Fastening the clip at the base of her neck to tighten her traveling cloak, Hermione made her way across the grounds, the lights from the interior of Hogwarts reflecting brightly off the Black Lake. Though it was mid-summer, the Scottish nights tended to be somewhat chilly, no matter the season. Pulling her cloak closer to her chest, Hermione tried to corral her oddly sluggish thoughts into some semblance of order.

Minerva's parting warning had aroused a dormant anxiousness within her, something that should not have been forgotten or dismissed in the first place. Though Voldemort had been defeated some seven years prior, Death Eaters and dark wizards still lingered much like a terminal disease - attacking when least expected, and stealthily avoiding being seen. Like the mythological Hydra, it seemed as though each time one head was severed, another three emerged.

In a way, the Auror Department had been making some headway in that regard, mainly due to Harry and Ron's efforts. But there were still unexplained muggle disappearances and deaths. Handfuls of known Death Eaters remained unaccounted for - several of which had been sympathetic to Voldemort's views. The Order, in conjunction with the Auror Department, intended to pursue each lead, however seemingly insignificant, until every last cell of Azkaban was filled.

It wasn't a task for the faint of heart.

Hermione, herself, had been personally involved on a handful of Order missions, one of which had resulted in the capture of Creighton Hines, a notorious Death Eater the Auror Department had classified as a 'top priority'. But the task was daunting, and the Aurors were often overwhelmed with misinformation, false leads, and the like.

And Hermione's heart, which had once beat with strength and purpose, seemed to have failed her. Her parents were dead - murdered by the very Death Eaters she and the Order had been trying to hunt down. And so_ of course_ she blamed herself - for not being there, for not arriving on time to save them. To do _anything_.

Her immediate response had, naturally, been vengeance.

But the years had been hard, and the trail was soon cold. Grief consumed her. Each passing day was dull and empty. And it wasn't until a year ago, when Minerva had approached her on a warm summer afternoon and had asked her to consider taking up a post at Hogwarts as the Transfiguration professor, that her life had begun to feel somewhat normal again.

And suddenly, she felt a sense of purpose.

And that had driven her forward. She had fallen into the pattern of teaching easily, throwing herself into the work without a backward glance. It was arduous, but she was apt and ready for the challenge. Minerva had become a great mentor, offering insight and encouragement along the way. And for the first time since her parents had been murdered - since the final battle, really; Hermione had begun to feel lighthearted. Happy, even.

Of course, that was until her paradigms had been warped not a few moments before, when Minerva told her Severus Snape's body had never been found.

Walking quickly past the wards, Hermione flourished her wand, closed her eyes, and felt the uncomfortable sensation of Disapperation as she vanished into the night.

000

"It's me, Harry," Hermione called impatiently, closing her eyes and leaning against the heavy wooden door. "Open up!"

She heard muffled footsteps making their way toward the door and stood back just in time for the door to swing inwards, saving herself from tumbling forward and into the entryway.

"Hermione!" cried Harry, enveloping his friend in a huge embrace. "Didn't expect to see you tonight! Brilliant! Come in - Ginny's just putting dinner on. You hungry?"

Hermione shook her head and smiled as Harry ushered her through the doorway of Grimmauld Place. Initially, she had been surprised when Harry announced that he and Ginny would make Grimmauld Place their home. To her, it housed memories of horrid portraits, Horcruxes, and cruel, harsh voices. But not long after Harry and Ginny had been married, Hermione had come with a housewarming gift, and had been shocked to discover that the place had been virtually transformed.

The sitting room was warm and inviting - a healthy fire burning in the hearth. No longer were the hallways dark and dingy. The post and lintel entryways were fully erect, no longer buckling in on themselves from the unevenly dispersed weight. And Kreacher, in his infinite grumpiness, had even seemed somewhat more pleasant. All in all, the place had seemed strangely cozy and warm.

It was, in Harry's words, brilliant.

"No, thanks, Harry; I'm not hungry."

But Harry pushed her eagerly forward to the kitchen. Whatever Ginny was cooking, it somehow smelled distinctively like the Burrow, and for a brief moment, Hermione felt a rush of homesickness.

The kitchen was bright and friendly, unlike anytime Hermione had ever been there previously during Order meetings. And Ginny, with her sleek, straight hair pinned up glamorously at the nape of her neck, stood with her back to the entryway, wand in hand, as pots and pans clamored together in the air in front of her.

"Who was it, Harry? Oh, _hell_, I forgot to add the sugar _before_ kneading. I hope that won't ruin - "

But she trailed off as she cast a quick glance over her shoulder.

"Hermione!" Ginny shrieked, turning on the spot and rushing to her friend, causing the pots in the air to collide violently with one another. "Harry didn't say you'd be stopping by! Oh, sit down! Won't you stay for dinner?" She embraced her friend and unknowingly wiped a smudge of flour onto her cheek. "I'm no where _near_ as good at cooking as mum, but I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."

Behind her, Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head back and forth.

Hermione suppressed a laugh.

"No, thanks anyways, though, Gin. I've just come to talk to Harry for a moment and see how you both were doing."

The pots that were hovering over the sink clanged together loudly.

"Oops," said Ginny, turning and stilling them with a quick flick of her wand. "Well, I'm so glad you stopped by, Hermione, if even for a moment. Oh! I have another bottle of Sleekeazy for you upstairs," she smiled. "You said you were nearly out. I'll go run and grab it before I forget."

The ginger haired woman swept by Hermione, giving her a quick squeeze on the arm as she brushed through the entryway and up the stairs.

Harry raised a thick brow. "Sleekeazy? Since when did you start using that rubbish?"

Hermione laughed ruefully, "Honestly, Harry. Did you think my hair just started managing itself on its own accord after all the hell it gave me at school?" She touched her head self consciously, pulling at a thick curl with her thumb and forefinger. "It'll never be anything like Ginny's, but it's infinitely more manageable now."

Harry folded his arms and chuckled, shaking his head in dismay. "I'd never thought I'd see the day, Hermione."

Pulling out the cedar bench, Hermione sat down heavily at the kitchen table, loosening her cloak at the neck. "Despite what you might think, Harry, even _I_ appreciate being able to comb through my own hair. Now drop it, or I'll hex you into next week."

Harry held up his hands, feigning surrender. "I've seen what's happened to those who've been on the receiving end of your hexes, Hermione. I'd like to keep all my parts in place, thanks."

Hermione nodded, grabbing a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that lay on the opposite side of the table. The front cover had a picture of the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, at a press conference inside the Ministry.

"Good."

"So, how are you, Hermione?" Harry asked with a teasing smile. "Hogwarts a bit boring in the summer without a thousand screaming kids to keep you on your toes?"

Hermione opened the front page of the _Prophet_, and without looking up, asked quietly, "Why didn't you tell me they never found Professor Snape's body?"

There was silence for the space of six seconds, she counted.

"What?"

"I know your hearing is perfectly sound, Harry."

When Hermione raised her gaze from the paper, Harry was frowning, his brow knit together. "What..I mean, where did this come from? What brought it on? It's been, what? Seven years now?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione pressed, looking up from the paper, her brown eyes raw with emotion.

"I didn't," Harry shrugged helplessly. "I didn't think it mattered."

"You didn't think it _mattered_?" Hermione repeated, hearing the volume in her voice increase with each word. "Of _course_ it matters, Harry!"

And suddenly, she found herself standing, having pushed back from the bench, and was pacing around the small kitchen, waving her arms wildly and demanding justification.

"Did you keep it from me on purpose, Harry? Was it intentional? Does _Ron_ know? _Ginny_?"

She stopped and looked at him, panting with the pent-up fury of the past few years, at him for lying to her, and at herself for thinking he would do anything different.

_Damn his protectiveness._

"Hermione," Harry said helplessly after a moment, coming around from his side of the table to stand in front of her, "I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'd react like this - almost, I _knew_ you would." He raised one hand to place it on her shoulder, but thought better of it, and let it fall to his side. "What you know, you can't unknow. I knew, right after everything happened, that you were having nightmares," he hesitated, unsure of how to continue, "I just, I didn't want to add to those."

Hermione kept her eyes on the ground, willing the hot tears that were gathering in the corners of her eyes to stay where they were. "What," she asked quietly, nearly inaudibly, "would they want with his body?"

She heard Harry's footsteps over the hardwood floor, and then felt him reach out and gather her to his side. She was nearly as tall as he was, but she tucked her head and rested it on his wiry shoulder.

"It won't do anyone any good to dwell on it, Hermione." And she felt his breath on her hair. "No one can change the past. Stewing over it will only upset you."

Hermione laughed grimly, her cheek rubbing hard against his shoulder bone. "That's what Minerva told me."

She felt him pat her back awkwardly. "So it was McGonagall who told you, then?"

Hermione nodded against him, and then disengaged and took a small step backwards. "Yes. Inadvertently."

"Hermione," he said uncertainly, warily, "please don't think on it. There are some places the mind shouldn't go, and that's one of them." And then he added more quietly, "Please trust me on this. You'll only make yourself sick."

Hermione stared ahead, not looking at anything in particular. "How can I _not_ think on it, Harry? Merlin, it's not as though I'm _choosing_ to imagine the poor man's body, beaten and defeated."

She closed her eyes then for just a moment, and then wished she hadn't.

Images of Death Eaters doing unspeakable things surfaced, unbidden, and she swallowed thickly and felt nauseous.

"Harry," she managed shakily. "The Aurors," she shook her head. "I mean, there haven't been any sightings, have there? R-remains found that were never identified?"

He closed his green eyes briefly, and opened them again, looking at her with something of compassion. "No, Hermione," he said softly, his Adam's apple working just under the skin. "There hasn't been anything found. And I'm sure you realize," he continued gently, "what the odds are of finding human remains that have been missing for seven years."

She nodded numbly, looking down at the cedar table, not seeing anything at all.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Okay. I get it. Just...give me a minute." And she turned away from him, fighting the hot tears that threatened to fall for the umpteenth time that day.

She heard him take a step closer.

"Hermione..."

"I should be getting back, Harry," Hermione whispered, stilling herself. "Mr. Filch will have my head if I'm late and wake him up or his _precious _Mrs. Norris." She shook her head incredulously and said quietly, mostly to herself. "I can't believe that damnable cat is still alive." And then she met his gaze, levelly. "Tell Ginny I'll stop by again soon to get the bottle of Sleekeasy from her."

"Hermione," he said, reaching out to grab her shoulder. "Wait."

She stopped without turning, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

"Are you okay, otherwise? I mean, I know it's all shocking, still, but with everything else that's happened...how are you holding up?"

Sighing inaudibly, Hermione thought of her parents.

She thought of her mum's warm brown eyes that had always lighted up each time she recounted a favorite book. She thought of her dad, of his infectious laugh that literally shook his entire body, when the joke he was laughing at really wasn't _that_ funny at all. She thought of holidays past; of Christmases; of autumn evenings, sipping hot cider by her father's hideous lounge chair, shaggy and _orange_.

She thought of the last time she hugged them both; her father resting his chin on her head, and then planting a kiss into her hair. Her mother had all but thrown a worn book into her hands, animatedly recounting her thoughts on the protagonist's plight.

"Harry," Hermione said, trying for his sake to keep her voice as gentle as she possibly could. "I'm fine. It's just...a lot. And I know it's been three years since," she shook her head. "Well, since...it happened. But I'm fine. Really."

Harry folded his arms and sighed. "That's drivel, Hermione, and you know it."

She laughed once, and then shrugged helplessly. 'What do you want me to tell you, Harry? That I'm a wreck? That I'm a complete mess? That I sob myself to sleep every night because I can't handle it?"

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"That's a two way path, Harry," Hermione pointed out, stingingly. "And _you_ should have told me about Professor Snape from the start."

And then she turned and headed out the entryway.

"Hermione," Harry called after her, as she made her way down the hallway. "Hermione, wait."

She whirled around once she got to the front door, startling herself as she nearly bumped noses with him. Taking a deep breath and feeling a little reckless, she readied herself to lay into him, to tell him to leave her alone already, because she was tired of him fretting over her like some clucking hen. But just as quickly as the anger flared, it instantly subsided, and she felt that hollow emptiness resume its place within her that had become so commonplace as of late.

"Look, Harry," she said slowly, suddenly realizing how tired she truly was. "You don't need to worry about me. I appreciate your concern, but really, it's unnecessary - not to mention _unwanted_."

He was looking at her fondly, but something in his green eyes told Hermione how little he cared about her revelation. He would continue to worry, she knew, whether she scolded him, or not.

"Really, Harry," she sighed. "I have you, Ginny, Ron, Minerva, and Hagrid - this list goes on." She took a deep breath. "I have the memories of my parents. It's more than most people have."

He was regarding her skeptically, but eventually he ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Hermione, this is no good for you. And I _know_ you know that."

She sighed but said nothing.

"Please, I want you to forget about Snape. It...was a long time ago. And there's nothing you can do change that now. The one thing you _can_ do is to remember him for the man he truly was," he said solemnly. "I can't even begin to imagine everything he went through." He shook his head. "Even though he was a git to us the majority of the time."

Hermione laughed once, as if she couldn't help it.

"Well, more like _all_ of the time," Harry amended with a lop-sided grin worthy of Ron. "But in all fairness to him, I suppose, the bloke had no choice."

She looked over at him with a sudden affection that looked utterly genuine.

And Harry took a step forward and pulled Hermione's head toward him, and kissed the top of her dark head. She sat very still.

"Look after yourself, Hermione," said Harry. "Come to the Burrow this weekend for dinner. It'll be good for you. Evidently George has come up with some new concoction that will, in his words, 'put the Extendable Ears to shame'."

Hermione smiled warmly, pulled the latch on the door handle and made her way down the concrete steps. "I'll be there, Harry."

Harry returned the gesture, following her out onto the landing. "Good. I'll tell Ginny you can pick up your hair goop then."

Hermione chuckled softly. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Be safe, Hermione."

And then she turned on the spot and Disapperated.

000

Hermione was halfway up the path that led to Hogwarts. It was quiet, a few crickets sounding somewhere nearby. She stopped for a moment, closed her eyes, and breathed the night air in deeply. And then, against everything Harry and Minerva had told her, she veered left and made her way down a little side path, opposite the direction of the castle.

Hermione looked up at the silhouette of the great trees that marked the entrance of the Forbidden Forest, just barely visible against the already black night sky. It was strange how the Forest could look so peaceful and serene, when in reality, it was the home of abnormally large spiders, centaurs, giants, and the like. She smiled to herself as she reflected on her adventures there with Harry and Ron, and made a mental note to visit Hagrid in the morning. Perhaps should could join him for one of his various tasks in the Forest for his Care of Magical Creatures class.

Oddly, the thought of a little danger in the Forbidden Forest felt mildly therapeutic.

_Adventure_, she corrected herself. Adventure was a better word.

The path was slightly overgrown; tall blades of grass caught onto the bottom of her robe as she continued forward. Only when she got to the point where her visual recall couldn't place the descent perfectly in her mind, did she flourish her wand.

"_Lumos!_"

The light was momentarily blinding, but after squinting and blinking rapidly for a few brief moments, Hermione pressed on. The light from her wand cast dramatic shadows on the foliage with each passing step. And at length she arrived at her destination, her wandlight making the white marble appear all the more bright. Her eyes flickered to Dumbledore's headstone first, but only briefly. With her heart pounding, her gaze shifted to the headstone on the left.

She stood there, absolutely still, looking into the darkness.

Involuntarily, she imagined that night, and the what might have beens. The horrible things that could have happened to his body, and just why whatever celestial force controlled the earth would stand by and let it happen. Didn't the man deserve to rest peacefully? To have the honor and respect of what he did for the wizarding world to just be left alone?

And so, while her vision almost literally swam with fury, she closed her eyes, and felt weak.

No telling what could have truly happened. No telling if anyone would ever find what was left of Severus Snape. The odds, she knew, with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, were heavily against her. And even _if_ on the odd change the Auror Department found some skeleton stashed somewhere on the outskirts of Britain, she knew that the fact checking would be hell. Professor Snape had been a half-blood; but there was no telling if he had any sort of muggle dental records that could be used for a reference. Or, if there was some spell she didn't know of that would do the work for her.

With a shaky breath, she took one step forward, bent, and reverently leaned her head against the top of the headstone. Strangely, almost as if her hand was acting on its own accord, she brought her shaking fingers to her lips, pressed them there for a moment, and then touched the cool stone over the inscription of Professor Snape's name.

And suddenly, the profound changes of the past twenty-four hours pressed down on her reality like a dead weight, and she realized she was sobbing.

"I'm...I'm so sorry," she managed, lamely. "But I promise," she sniffed. "That somehow, someway, I'll set this right." She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to get a hold on her breathing. "This is where you _should_ be. Right here. Next to Dumbledore."

She paused and looked up at the stars, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. Here she was, speaking to a dead man. And a dead man that wasn't even buried beneath her, no less. Sighing, wondering if she should be admitted to a psychiatric facility, she put her forearm on the rounded curve of the headstone for support, and managed to get to her feet. With one final glance over her shoulder at the little cemetery, Hermione wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe and headed up the narrow path and back to Hogwarts.

000

The night air was pleasant and light. The treetops of the Forbidden Forest waved gently on the breeze. Silently, a dark figure made its way across the little path that led to the white, marbled stones. There was no light from the figure's wand. He had, evidently, made the journey before. Standing perfectly still, the figure heard an owl hoot to its companion as it soared over to the Hogwart's Owlery.

With a deep sigh, the figure closed his eyes, and knelt, knees cracking sharply at the change in position. Hesitantly, reverently, the figure reached out with pale, nimble fingers, and slowly traced the inscription on the white marble. The calloused fingertips stopped and hovered in a particular spot, where the woman had pressed her own fingertips there, having only just rested them on her warm lips.

Eyes still closed, the figure stood, the breeze whipping the shock of black hair across his face. And without a backward glace, the figure turned, and silently made his way back to the Forbidden Forest.

_A/N: Well, I'm back. :) I couldn't stay away for long! Just a quick disclaimer - I'm sure you noticed the refereces to The Scorcer's Stone and the Deathly Hallows. Those are JKR's words; not mine. She is lovely and brilliant, and I don't claim any of her genius. Whew! Okay, now that that's out of the way...I've been so, so, so excited to start writing this story. I'm still not completely certain how a few things are going to work out...like, the ending. (Oops.) But hopefully as I get going, the plot will go smoothly enough to where I'll be able figure it out. So, please leave your thoughts and let me know what you like, what you don't like - you know, all that good stuff. I intend to be fairly consistent on updating...and with Requiem I was, for the most part, good on my word on that. Just know that comments encourage me to update faster! _


	2. Chapter 2

_"To overcome difficulties is to experience the full delight of existence."_

_- _Arthur Schopenhauer

**Chapter 2**

"The thing about the International Association of Quidditch," Ron said with a mouthful of pastries, some two weeks later at the Quality Quidditch Supplies store in Diagon Alley, "is that it's completely biased. Hassan Mostafa is _still_ the Chairwizard, and he's _always_ had a grudge against the Cannons. He's a rotten hypocrite, he is. And if he had it his way, the Cannons would never make it to a tournament."

Hermione, who was leaning against a large shelf that housed dozens of leather Quaffles, looked up from her copy of _Transfiguration Today_ and rolled her eyes. "Ron," she said, with as much gentleness as she could, "have you ever stopped to think that perhaps it's the lack of _talent_ on the Cannons that is the problem, and not the Chairwizard?"

Ron looked at her indignantly, his mouth half open; and then, went in on one of his tirades.

"_Talent_?" he cried, with wide, blue eyes. "Hermione, the Quidditch Union for the Administration and Betterment of the British League and its Endeavors has proven on _several_ occasions the discrimination that exists within the International Association," he said seriously. "Dunbar Oglethorpe presented authenticated evidence to the _Daily Prophet_ showing how bloody biased the whole organization was. _And_," he added levelly, raising a finger for emphasis, "Ragmar Dorkins, the manager of the Cannons, has personally _seen_ Mostafa taking galleons from the Falmouth Falcons."

She laughed and shook her head. "Yes, but didn't the _Prophet_ dismiss that evidence as inconclusive?"

Ron scowled fiercely. "Bloody hell, Hermione. You sound just like _them_."

She chuckled and swatted at him, scattering the sugar from the pastry that had fallen onto his robes. She was trying not to smile, and failing miserably. But then she grew thoughtful. "Ron, if there really _are_ shady dealings going on with bribes and gambling, you should report it to the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, not the _Prophet_. If some kind of underground network truly exists, they should know about it."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, _now_ she tells me."

Hermione gave him a baleful stare as she folded the text under her arm and headed for the exit. "And people wondered _why _we never continued dating."

Ron laughed once and followed her, his eyes lingering momentarily on the latest model of the Firebolt in the display area. "Well," he said cheerfully, ducking through the doorway and narrowly missing the bell that announced they had exited the store, "We all can't live up to your fairytale standards, Hermione. And let's face it," he deadpanned, pausing on the crowded sidewalk. "A relationship without Quidditch, isn't a relationship at all."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "And just why was it," she asked, making her way across the street towards Flourish and Blott's, "that it took us _seven_ years of school to figure that out?"

"Seven years and _more,_" Ron agreed, dodging two young boys and they bolted around him and ran head-first into Quality Quidditch Supplies. "It's cause love is blind, Hermione."

Hermione smiled wryly. "We weren't _in_ love, Ron."

"No," he agreed, with the trademark lop-sided grin adorning his face, "Because it would have been an affair of sorts, wouldn't it? You would have been cheating on your precious books with me, and I - "

"Would have been cheating on all things Quidditch, yes," Hermione finished with a small laugh.

She looked at him fondly for a moment, pausing as she reached the other side of the street, and fixed his bright eyes and ginger hair in her mind. Her gentle hearted friend that would take a curse for her without thinking twice about it.

"Just how long _are_ your lunch breaks, Ron?"

He grinned and glanced conspiratorially to his left and right. "Well, that's the brilliant thing about being a member of the _Golden Trio_," he mock whispered. "I could take a three hour lunch break, and no one would say anything to me."

"Ron!" Hermione admonished, a look of shock gracing her features. "Just because you hold sway where others don't doesn't mean you should take advantage of the system." Her face was set and angry. "It's wrong."

He laughed once, shaking his head, and looked down at her with helpless affection. "Alright, alright. I'm off, Hermione. I should see you back to Hogwarts, though. Harry would have my head if I just left - "

"Good hell," Hermione cursed, rolling her eyes in annoyance and turning away from him. "Would you like to accompany me to the loo, as well?"

Ron laughed loudly, taking two quick steps to catch up with her. "No, I'd rather not." But when Hermione was silent and kept walking to the book store, her back straight and chin high, he grabbed her arm to stop her. "Oh, come on, Hermione; don't be upset. We're just looking out for you, is all. We're allowed to worry a little, aren't we?" He grinned widely and the freckles on his cheeks seemed all the more prominent. "You're as good as a sister to both of us. Cut us some slack." And then he playfully punched her in the arm. "We're just your overprotective big brothers."

"Overprotective _younger_ brothers," she corrected with a sigh, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. And then she looked up at him, tilting her head to the side. "You really can't help it, can you?" she asked, incredulously.

He smiled warmly. "Nope."

Closing her eyes, she buried her face in her hands and chuckled. "Merlin, how I put up with the both of you is _beyond _me." And then she shoved him gently. "Now go get back to work before I march over the Ministry myself and write in a complaint about your abnormally long lunch hours. I'm sure the Auror Department would _love_ to hear about that." She smiled in mock sweetness. "I'm going to Flourish and Blott's before I head back to Hogwarts; so unless you'd like to _guard_ me for who knows how long while I peruse any little book that tickles my fancy, I suggest you go clock back in."

Ron's eyes widened dramatically. "Bloody hell," he whispered. "Well, it's back to work then, I suppose. If on the off change there's a Death Eater brushing up on some reading, just know, in advance, that I'm sorry and that I love you. But honestly," he deadpanned. "You can only ask so much of a man. I swore I'd never set foot in another library again."

"Flourish and Blott's isn't a library, Ron," Hermione pronounced with a dramatic sigh.

Ron shrugged. "It's all Greek to me."

She swatted at him again, but he jumped out of the way with a ridiculous grin on his face.

"Goodbye Ron," she said with exasperated smile. "I'll see you next week for lunch."

"Brilliant. We'll go back to Quality Quidditch Supplies and find you a broom so you can take up Quidditch," he called, making his way in the opposite direction. "It's never too late, you know!"

She chuckled, pushing through the crowd towards Flourish and Blott's, and then called over her shoulder. "When the Chudley Cannons win the Quidditch World Cup, I'll personally let you give me lessons!"

He shook his head and laughed, a small smile on his face, and then turned to fight his way through the crowded sidewalk.

It really wasn't _that_ funny; but it was their favorite joke, regardless. And for the past several lunches, it had somehow become a consistent parting phrase.

Hermione's weekly summer lunches with Ron, she had found, were strangely therapeutic. His inherent lightheartedness and the ease with which she was able to converse with him, somehow, wonderfully, allowed herself to momentarily forget everything else in the world that was weighing down upon her. Those few stolen hours each week left her refreshed; like a dim flicker of light in her forever darkening world.

She had slowly come to realize that Ron had become a steady bright spot in her life; a life that had otherwise been filled with shadows.

He would look at her with a peculiar gentleness, listening about her students, and never failing to ask about the Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry at Hogwarts; a conversation that somehow inevitably led to Quidditch. But the thing Hermione cherished most about Ron was that he hadn't treated her any differently since the tragedy with her parents. Never once did he press her and ask how she was holding up, demand that she spill her thoughts on the matter, or pat her condescendingly on the back and tell her that everything would eventually _be all right_. Rather, Ron carried on as though things were normal.

And for that, she was eternally grateful.

Perhaps, Hermione reflected sadly, he had learned from his own experience of losing a brother.

Harry meant well. He did. Noble, macho fool that he was; Hermione sometimes wondered whether he trusted her to tie the laces on her boots by herself. It was that incessant worrying, though, that had put some distance between the two of them since everything with her parents. He had a good heart - a _tender_ heart, which truly was a rare thing to find; but the worrying glances he thought she never noticed, the _surprise _visits by Hagrid - _no doubt_ on his own orders, the repetitive questions, all of it; it was too much.

In a way, it was touching, the way he worried. But eventually her feminist sensibilities would flare up, and she would distance herself, utterly annoyed. Hadn't she proved she could take care of herself? Hadn't she saved _his_ neck on more than one occasion? Hadn't she shown she was capable?

_More than capable. _

_Tired, is all. I'm just tired.  
_

Hermione couldn't remember when she last had a proper night's sleep.

Professor Snape's tormented face kept appearing at increasingly frequent intervals; haunting her each time she closed her eyes. Like a waking nightmare she couldn't shake; the lingering dreams followed her like a shadow.

In the full weariness of that bright afternoon, Hermione massaged her temples and made her way through the bookstore with heavy steps, maneuvering around several fully stocked shelves that reached the ceiling, as she simultaneously avoided the texts that had been known to, on occasion, bite customers.

Her feet moved on their own accord, leading her to the large corner section that housed the Transfiguration texts. She paused for a moment, tapping her index finger thoughtfully on her chin, until she reached out and gently traced the different colored spines with her fingertips.

_"Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, Beginners Guide to Transfiguration, Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration..."_

She pulled out the last text and thumbed through it briefly.

_Transfiguration is subject to rules, much like any other thing in the universe. Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration has five principle exceptions, the first being food..._

Closing the book, she stuffed it under her arm, and grabbed two more.

She had read each of them more times than she cared to remember; though some of the passages, she felt, were severely lacking in substance. And she had written to the authors on two separate occasions emphasizing this opinion; though, not surprisingly, she had never received an owl back from any of them. But there were a few ambitious students in her sixth year Ravenclaw class that she felt would enjoy the extra reading, regardless. Young minds that, like her own, sought for something more.

She glanced briefly at a few of the more interesting texts she had read; _A Compendium of Common Curses and their Counter-Actions; An Appraisal of Magical Anthology Education in Europe; An Anthology of Eighteenth-Century Charms; Hogwarts: A History; _and wondered if it would be considered borderline obsessive if she went back to her quarters at Hogwarts and picked one up to read again.

And then she rolled her eyes and hurried along when she spotted the Divination text, _Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul._

Turning, she made her way to the check-out counter. She wrestled briefly with the load of books in her arms, adjusting them with the help of her hip, until the sound of footsteps approaching from a parallel aisle and the faint scent of aftershave made her look up.

"Hermione Granger?" A fifty-something wizard in deep crimson robes asked, tucking two books of his own underneath his arm.

She blinked. "Yes?"

A grim smile crossed the man's face. "I apologize. Of course you wouldn't remember me. And surely, you must hate when people approach you, speaking with you as though you should know them. My name is Lincoln Thorpe," he said simply. "I work for the Auror Department."

He shifted the books in his arms and extended his hand.

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, a faint flicker of recognition registering somewhere in the back of her mind. At one point in time - during the dark months of her desperate crusade for vengeance - she had known nearly all of the Aurors at the Ministry. The numbness that followed afterward, though, somehow made everything seem a bit superfluous.

She hadn't cared to remember specific names.

She hadn't cared much about anything.

Yet, strangely, the name stuck a chord with her. Again she adjusted her stash of books, managing to balance them on her hip for a brief moment so she could offer her own hand.

"It's a pleasure."

Thorpe shook his head fondly. "No, I can assure you, the pleasure is mine entirely."

He took her hand and gripped it, not a hair too tight.

"Can I help you with your books?"

"Oh, no, thank you," Hermione replied instantly, subconsciously moving her fingers over the spine of the book nearest her chest. "You would _think_ I would have cast a hovering charm," she chucked once, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Or that I would be more apt to the task; I carried infinitely more books around when I was a student."

Thorpe smiled for a moment. But then he looked grave. "Please," he said, reaching for her books. "Allow me to help you to the counter."

Hermione was about to protest, but Thorpe had already reached out, and was maneuvering her little stash into his arms.

Once her hands were free, Hermione - her store of patience exhausted - took a firm step forward, ready to snatch her books back, if not wrap her hands around the man's neck for disregarding her words so blatantly.

Being best friends with Harry Potter certainly had its disadvantages. The constant barrage of strangers that approached her in most any public setting, asking for an autograph, for the detailed play-by-play of Voldemort's defeat, or whom she thought would win _Witch Idol_, was nearly more than she could stand.

And now, she couldn't even go into a bloody bookstore without being accosted.

She closed her eyes and thought of Harry. Of his fame during their school years. And she felt sorry for him.

"Sir, I truly appreciate your kindness," she said with a forced calmness; though she didn't. She doubted the man would have thought twice had it been any other woman carrying a too large stack of books. And that was what bothered her more than anything. The glove of friendliness that would have normally passed by a person in need. "But I'm perfectly capable of taking my own - "

"I worked your parents' case," he said simply, looking down at her.

Hermione blinked.

"I - you what?"

He nodded gravely in confirmation. "I was on the team that investigated the two Death Eaters that were in your parents' home; followed the trail as far as the Forest of Dean, and well...," he said grimly, the empathy in his voice apparent. "I suppose I don't need to go any further."

The comprehension of what he had said must have been written plainly on her face; his eyes instantly softened and he watched her steadily.

Her brown eyes widened, her lips parted, and she looked up at him.

Lost.

And said nothing at all.

Like a band-aid ripping too quickly, the raw, vulnerability she had kept pent up for the past three years suddenly came crashing down without empathy or mercy.

"Oh," she said shakily.

Thorpe took a step towards her, but she lowered her gaze, shaking her head slightly, as though that simple gesture might help her gain her composure.

"I'm so sorry," he said, helplessly. "I can't even begin to imagine..."

Hermione nodded mutely, her gaze still locked onto the floor.

"I wasn't sure I should say anything," he continued solemnly. "Almost, now, I wish I wouldn't have. But I need you to understand something."

She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, finally willing herself to look up and meet his eyes - all while strangers milled around her happily, their own worlds not turning mad as hers only just had.

"And just what is it, Mr. Thorpe," she managed over the lump in her throat, "that you need me to understand?"

He opened his mouth, and then closed. A moment later, he tried again. "The guest sign-in log at the Ministry hasn't shown your name for over a year."

She raised one eyebrow, confused.

"Merlin, you must think me a complete fool," he chuckled gravely. And then he adjusted the enormous stack of books in his arms. "What I'm trying to get at," he said, somewhat awkwardly, "is that I wanted you to know that the case hasn't been dropped. There are still Aurors working on finding out who was responsible."

She stared at him for a long moment.

"The case," he said again, as though she hadn't understood. "Is still open. Don't abandon hope just yet."

She looked up and concentrated on keeping her lip stiff.

"I know it must seem hopeless; a vain attempt at this point. But we haven't stopped looking," he smiled weakly. "And I just wanted you to know that."

"I appreciate your concern," she said finally, softly. "It..._does_ bring some sense of comfort, knowing that there are others out there. Looking." She closed her eyes for a moment and licked her lips. "But just because I haven't been to the Ministry, doesn't mean that I've given up. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, they've...well, they've kept me mostly informed." She swallowed, her face solemn. "I had to...distance myself for a time. Being as emotionally involved as I was," she trailed off, shaking her head. "It was turning me into something I'm not. Something that...frightened me."

He nodded in grim understanding.

She gave him a forced smile for just a moment. And then she felt the exhaustion of the past two weeks seep back into her bones; and she wanted nothing more than to leave Diagon Alley and return to Hogwarts.

"If there is anything that I can do for you," Thorpe said, making his way to the check-out counter with her books. "please, don't hesitate to ask. I'd be happy to, if I could."

"Thank you," she said quietly. "And thank you for your kindness." She reached into her robes to pay for the books; and then, gloriously, a sudden thought came to her.

"Perhaps," she hesitated in a small voice, and Thorpe looked down at her quietly, "Perhaps there is..._something_ you can do."

He looked at her expectantly, his soft eyes searching her face with solemn sincerity. "Anything."

Hermione licked her lips, her gaze locked onto her fingers, and she stilled herself.

"It's my understanding," she went on, finally bringing herself to look up and meet his face, "that the Auror Department, on occasion, works with the local muggle authorities to...assist with certain investigations."

Thorpe frowned, his brow furrowed. "Yes, that is true. Although," he shook his head, "The muggle authorities wouldn't be of any help in your parents' case - "

"I know," she nodded quickly, looking around to see if anyone was close enough to hear their conversation. "No, I understand that. The reason I'm asking is, well, I know it probably sounds...untoward," she bit her lower lip and shifted uncertainly, "but it's about...Severus Snape."

Thorpe blinked. "Severus Snape?"

Hermione swallowed and nodded.

"Yes."

He looked at her gravely. "You'll have to forgive me, but," he set the books down and raised his hands helplessly, "I'm confused as to where you're going with this. Where does Snape fit in here?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "After the final battle, after everything with Voldemort," she paused, her visual recall playing through the events of that awful night. "They never found Severus Snape's body."

Thorpe nodded grimly, utterly unsurprised. "Yes. I remember reading the reports."

_Merlin, did the whole world know but me?_

"Was there ever an effort made? To recover the body, I mean."

Thorpe hesitated, "From what I recall, there was an initial effort made, yes," he ran a hand through his graying hair. "Though, nothing was found, obviously." And then he pressed gently, "What is your connection with Severus Snape?"

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "I don't have any connection with him - aside from the fact that he was my professor for six years. It's just that...," she shook her head. "I was only recently made aware of the fact that his body was never recovered." She rubbed her eyes and sighed. "For lack of a better word, it seems..._wrong_ that he wasn't properly laid to rest."

Thorpe looked at her, saying nothing.

"I was hoping that, I don't know," she waved her left hand dismissively in the air, her right hand resting on her hip, "that you could call in a favor to the muggle authorities and perhaps petition their help in recovering something."

"Hermione," Thorpe said gently, "what is it exactly you're hoping to find here? I think you know the odds of finding a missing body of over seven years without me belaboring them."

"Yes," Hermione said softly, suddenly realizing her hands were shaking. "I understand. And I don't need you to patronize me by giving a sense of false hope here. I get it. Really. I do. But," she looked back up at him, her eyes raw and pleading, "I still feel as though I should be doing _something_." She swallowed and shook her head. "If there's anyway you could mention it to one of your contacts, to see if somehow their scientific muggle methods could be of use, I'd be eternally grateful."

Meeting her eyes, Thorpe said nothing for a long moment. And then his face softened. "You know," he said pensively, "just when I think how little good there is left in this world, something comes along and startles me - reminds me of why we keep fighting." His eyes seemed to twinkle. "You are, without a doubt, one of the least selfish people I have ever met, Hermione Granger. Yes. I will help you." He smiled warmly. "And you are right. Severus Snape deserves more than an empty tomb."

Hermione smiled gratefully. "Thank you." And then she reached out to clasp his shoulder, but thought better of it. "But if you wouldn't mind, Mr. Thorpe, I'd like to keep this conversation between the two of us."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I know you work with Harry and Ron," she went on, slightly reluctant. "And you see, they worry enough about me as it is. I'd rather not give them one more reason to throw me in St. Mungo's."

Thorpe chuckled, his pale eyes lighting up. "I assure you, your discretion is safe with me." And then he added more solemnly, "I hope to prove my trustworthiness."

Hermione smiled. "I'm sure you will. And, thank you. Again."

Thorpe nodded, turned to pay for his books, and said, "I'll send an owl the moment I hear anything." He fished in his robes for his money. "Oh, and Hermione?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"

He took a deep breath and looked down at her warmly. "Please don't forget what I said about your parents. There's always hope."

And then he gathered his books and his change, and turned and walked out the door; the bell sounding his exit.

Hermione stared ahead numbly for several moments, toying with the sleeve of her robe. She had long ago given up on finding the specific Death Eaters that had murdered her parents. But she had hoped that the Auror Department, or the Order, would put as many known Death Eaters in Azkaban as was humanly possible - inadvertently imprisoning those responsible. And it had been that particular thought that had given her some sense of comfort over the years. Whether they confessed or not eventually became irrelevant.

At least they would be behind bars - having their souls taken from them.

That was enough.

It had actually become better that way. It had. She shuddered at her once dark thoughts of vengeance, at the horrible things she imagined herself doing if she ever discovered the culprits. Things that she could scarcely imagine one human doing to another; and yet, she had wanted it. She had _wanted_ whomever was responsible to suffer as her parents had suffered.

Her breath hitched at memory. They hadn't even had the simple _mercy_ to cast the killing curse.

No, it had been far worse than that.

They had wanted to make a point.

What would it do to her now if she discovered who had tortured her parents in such a gruesome manner? She had put much of it behind her, yes; had thought she was over those morbid thoughts of revenge. But was she really? Was she being honest with herself? If Thorpe brought the two Death Eaters before her and had them kneeling at her feet, would she be able to turn away? To have the Ministry deal with them?

Hermione looked down at the wand in her hands.

And she realized, she didn't know.

"You all set, then, ma'am? Is this everything for you?" The checker asked.

She closed her eyes and stilled herself for a moment.

"Yes, that will be all, thank you."

000

"Hagrid!" Hermione called, barreling through the Forbidden Forest after the half-giant as she clutched a stitch in her side. "Slow down! I can't keep up!"

Hagrid, who was several paces ahead, stopped abruptly, causing the trees around him to shake. "Sorry," he said guiltily, though the eagerness in his voice was apparent. "Always forget meself when I bring folks with me." His eyes glinted happily beneath his thick, bushy eyebrows while Hermione made her way around a mossy tree stump.

Adjusting a massive leather satchel over his broad shoulder, Hagrid said, "We started out o' bit late, so it's best teh find ole' Slughorn's ingredients before the sun gets too low." He looked pointedly at his crossbow. "Course, if we get too deep there won't be any sun to be seen. Stick right close, 'Ermione. The Forest is dangerous no matter how old yeh are."

Hermione looked up at him with an exasperated smile. "And just _how_ am I suppose to stick close when you run as fast as a Hippogriff, Hagrid?"

Hagrid blushed, sheepishly. "Yer right, 'Ermione. Sorry." And then looking down at her with his moleskin overcoat, he asked, "What's all on Slughorn's list there? We best be gettin' started."

Hermione, who was still trying to catch her breath, reached into her ebony traveling cloak and pulled out a warn piece of parchment.

"Let's see," she muttered, lighting her wand. "Valerian roots - those will be for the _Draught of Living Death_ and shouldn't be too difficult to find. Nettles for a boil-cure potion - again, those shouldn't be too hard to gather..." She trailed off, tracing her index finger down the list requested by the Potion's professor. "Aconite?" she raised her brow in surprise. "Well, I suppose it's good that I brought some dragon-hide gloves." She turned to Hagrid. "Make sure you don't touch the Aconite if you come across it, Hagrid. It's _extremely _poisonous. Mind any flowers that could resemble the shape of a monk's cowl."

"Poisonous even fer me?" Hagrid asked, removing a strange item from his thick beard.

Hermione frowned. "I don't know _specifically_ the effects it would have on giants, or _half-giants_; but it's not worth the risk. I'll make sure to use the gloves."

Hagrid nodded wisely as she continued down the list.

"Lacewing flies..., knotgrass...," Hermione chuckled and looked up, "It seems as though Professor Slughorn's supply of Polyjuice Potion is running low."

"What's ole' Slughorn needing Polyjuice for?" Hagrid asked, and then turned to whistle for Fang. "I thought the Ministry banned it from Hogwarts after all the trouble yeh caused."

"N.E.W.T. level students are allowed to brew it," Hermione said simply. "And it wasn't a problem with the Polyjuice Potion, _per se_, but more about the whole incident with the Chamber of Secrets. And that was all being sorted out after the final battle."

"Ah," said Hagrid. "Well, is there anything else on the list?"

Hermione worked on her lower lip. "I think that's it - oh! And it looks like sixteen horned slugs, as well." She wrinkled her nose. "Perhaps you can gather the slugs, Hagrid. I've never been particularly fond of grub."

Hagrid's beard twitched, and Hermione could tell he was smiling. "Not o' problem, 'Ermione! Yeh take the Aconite with yer gloves and I'll worry 'bout the slugs."

Humming merrily, Hagrid led the way further into the Forbidden Forest, pausing every few moments to allow Hermione to keep up.

"Where's Fang?" Hermione asked, as she maneuvered her way around an impressive oak tree. "He's gotten rather slow in his old age, hasn't he?"

Hagrid chuckled cheerfully. "Ah, ol' Fang'll be on his way. His sight ain't what it used teh be, but his ears are good enough. Jus' likes to take his time, he does."

Hermione smiled warmly, adjusting her own satchel. And then she felt the wind on her face and she closed her eyes. "I love coming out here with you, Hagrid. It brings back a lot of memories," she chuckled helplessly, opening her eyes again. "Somehow, though, my mind always thinks they were _good_ memories." She laughed again. "I must be losing my mind. I don't know how it's normal to consider running through the Forbidden Forest with you and Harry in my first year on a search for Voldemort a _good_ memory."

Hagrid laughed once. "Right yeh are, 'Ermione. Good times, true enough!" And his beard shook when he laughed. "Oi! Point yer wand over here. Might have found a good log to look fer those horned slugs."

Hermione obliged, shinning the light of her wand where Hagrid directed. The air was cooler here, and another gust of wind made Hermione pull at the clasp at the nape of her neck, drawing her dark traveling cloak closer to her body.

"Hagrid," Hermione said, raising her chin to scan the canopy of the dark trees, "I think I should try to find the Aconite while you're...," she paused and frowned, watching as he carefully pulled the first slug from the cool mud, leaving a thick trail of slime that hung in the air."...while you're working here. It's starting to get dark and I can't come to finish tomorrow. I promised to help Ginny redesign a room in her house. Something that she saw in _Witch Weekly, _I think," she shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, as though that particular activity were beyond her. "And you're hands are too big for my dragonhide gloves. When did Horace say he needed the ingredients by?"

Hagrid stuffed the slug into his burlap sack and then looked up, wiping his thick brow with the back of a massive hand. "Didn't give me a certain date," he shook his head. "No, don't suppose he did. Jus' said he needed them soon to start gettin' things all fixed up fer the start of term. Don't know if it's best, though, fer yeh to be running in the Forest by yerself, 'Ermione," he said seriously.

"I'll be careful, Hagrid," Hermione said with a small smile, patting him on the shoulder. "I promise."

Hagrid hesitated for a moment, and then rose to his feet. "Well, I suppose you're safer out here than I am with yer wand," he looked down at her fondly and chuckled. "Jus' promise to look after yerself, 'Ermione. Send up sparks if yeh need me and I'll be there before yeh know it."

Hermione nodded and then looked around the little clearing. "Do you want me to conjure some fireflies to help you see while you're working?"

Hagrid squatted back down and considered it. "That ol' lantern works good enough, but if my hands are full o' slugs, fireflies might not be a bad idea - just how bright are they?"

"Watch," Hermione smiled. "I'll show you."

And then she brandished her wand, muttered quietly to herself, and a brilliant beam of light erupted from her wand. It was momentarily blinding - enough for her to shield her eyes with her free hand from the sudden brightness. And then, as she and Hagrid both squinted while their pupils readjusted to the darkness, there were dozens of abnormally bright fireflies, floating around them like something out of a beautiful dream.

"Ah," said Hagrid in awe, his gaze following the moving light near his hand. "Beautiful! Ain't they beautiful, 'Ermione? Never seen that spell before!" he cried happily. "Where'd yeh learn it?"

The corner's of Hermione's mouth twitched and she shrugged her shoulders. "A book."

Hagrid laughed merrily as he tried to coax one of the fireflies onto his hand. "Shoulda guessed, ehe? Great spell, 'Ermione! Great spell!"

Hermione laughed softly as she adjusted her satchel. "You have enough pets as it is, Hagrid," she teased.

He smiled, his beard moving slightly. "Course, 'Ermione. I'll have those slugs ready before yeh know it!"

She smiled back at him and then turned from the little clearing, leaving Hagrid with the fireflies. With her wand lighting the way, she threaded her way between trees, pausing once to pull herself up and over a raised piece of earth. Despite herself, as emotionally weary as she was, she couldn't help but smile. Hagrid always seemed to have an uncanny ability to calm her soul. He never complicated things. And whenever she was with him, oddly, there was this overwhelming sense of calmness. Of peace and clarity. And his genuine affection for all creatures, great or small, ugly or beautiful, warmed her heart.

It was ironic, she mused, that such an intimidating looking man could have such a tender, gentle heart.

But she was away from him now. And without thinking, her mind wandered.

For the last week, she had been pointedly trying to ignore the gruesome images of Professor Snape that had come every hour, on the hour, in her nightmares. But she may as well have held her hand out to stop a running river for all the good it was doing her. The images were sickeningly vivid. Tangible. Almost as though she were back in the Shrieking Shack.

Almost as though it had just happened.

Grabbing a tree branch for support, Hermione closed her eyes and mused what Professor Snape might say to her had he been privy to her thoughts.

_"Fantasizing again, Miss Granger?" _She could almost hear him drawl. _"How very unbecoming in a woman. And how typically _Gryffindor _to mope over that which you cannot change. Though I suppose reasoning was never one of your strong points, was it? Regurgitation is perhaps a word you are better acquainted with."_

_"But it's not fair," _she heard herself arguing. "_After everything you did for the Order, for...your soul, you deserve better. You deserve to be buried next to Dumbledore. Can't you understand that?"_

_"I will NOT subject myself to listen to your pity! Not from anyone and certainly not from a insufferable know-it-all Gryffindor that has decided to take on a new charity case. Tell me, Miss Granger," _she could hear him sneer, _"just how _are_ the elves nowadays? Happy to be liberated by your _noble_ cause?"_

And she would sit and stare at him, verbally bested.

She could hear him snort with disgust. _"Just as I thought."_

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, mentally taking a note to research if it was borderline insane to have conversations in the mind with a dead person. A dead person that, no doubt, hated her.

Merlin, she needed to see a shrink.

The Forest was darker here. Cooler. The contrast of the light of her wand against the deep shadows of the forest made it difficult for her eyes to adjust to anything beyond the beam of light from her wand. Perhaps if she had been able to see better, she would have seen the steep ravine. Or perhaps if her wandlight had not been as bright, she would have stopped herself before stepping on the ledge.

As it was, the moment she set her left foot on the loose earth and felt the pressure of the ground give way beneath her, she knew it was too late.

She let loose a sharp yelp, helplessly trying to turn her body and grab the side of the edge as the ground fell apart beneath her. Her wand fell with a sickening finality as her fingers desperately tried to cling to the cool dirt. But her footing was off, and the dirt loose. With another yelp, she felt the earth shifting, and she did fall.

The crash to the earth was hard. Her legs crumpled and buckled beneath her the moment she made contact with the ground. A muffled groan escaped her lips as her head hit the earth at an odd angle, jarring her teeth together as the pressure reverberated through her skull.

_Oh, God..._

And then the pain registered, and she sucked in a deep breath and felt the hot tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. And just at the moment where she felt her thoughts recessing into the deep subconscious of her mind, she whispered, "Please..."

000

She heard someone moving at her side before she opened her eyes, as if from far away. But nothing was working right. She felt her heartbeat in her temple, pounding loudly away as if to assure her that she was, indeed, still alive. Her throat felt thick. She tried to swallow but somehow something got stuck, and she sputtered and coughed hard. And her legs felt as though each muscle, each fiber were pinching together, twisting unnaturally.

And then she heard a door open and close again.

_A door? _

_But - Hagrid? Where am I?_

There were smooth footsteps across a floor, coming in her direction. With her head still swimming, she forced her eyes open, and blinked. The room spun and she closed them again, trying to get a hold on her breathing.

_Hagrid?_ She tried to ask over the ringing in her ears. _Where am I? Where's Poppy?_

And Hermione opened her eyes again and a dark figure approached. For one brief moment of panic, she wondered if she had hit her head harder than she originally thought. Her ears were ringing, her vision slightly fuzzy, and her throat thick; but her faculties were all in order - or so she thought. Her widened eyes met ebony from across the room, and she stared, with her heart pounding, into the hard face of Severus Snape.

With her lip trembling, she finally did manage to swallow.

And screamed.

ooo

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait on the update for this chapter...I really struggled through the first part of it. Snape's back! I didn't want to put everyone through the ringer and have him appear 10 chapters down the road. (I'm far too impatient for that.) So, here he is. :) Comments, as usual, would be appreciated. _


	3. Chapter 3

_"The impossible often has a kind of integrity which the merely improbable lacks."_

- Douglas Adams

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**Chapter 3**

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**

It took Hermione a good seven seconds to realize that Snape was shouting at her. Her voice, it appeared, had not been damaged when she fell.

Her head hurt and her body ached, and were it not for the pain, she would have assumed she had merely fallen into another one of her Snape hallucinations. As it was, feeling her heart pound with an irregular rhythm in her chest, feeling a profound sense of smallness as she looked up into dark, penetrating eyes, and feeling the slow-spreading shock permeate throughout her body; she severely doubted it.

She swallowed with trembling lips and realized there was blood in her mouth. Pain, she reasoned, as she sincerely tried to focus, had never been a part of her hallucinations.

Devastating fear hadn't really fallen into the picture either.

"Will you stop screaming, woman!" Snape snapped, grabbing a phial and moving towards her, his black robe billowing out behind him. "If it was, in fact, my intention to cause you harm, I would not have troubled myself with the effort of removing you from the ravine," he said viciously. "Use what little sense you have, if you please."

She immediately shrank away from him, backing into - a _pillow?_ She was on a modest couch, she realized, in a small room she did not recognize. He moved toward her again, and again panic stuck her and she flinched away, drawing her legs to her chest as she pushed herself as far back against the armrest as she could manage without snapping her spine in half.

As far away from _him_ as was possible.

"I'm...I'm dreaming," she managed in a low, trembling whisper that was barely audible. Her eyes darted wildly back and forth between Snape's harsh face and the unfamiliar surroundings.

Snape's upper lip twitched. "As disturbing a notion as that may be," he sneered, his black eyes glinting in the low light of the room, "dreaming of a former _professor_," he emphasized, "I can assure you, Miss Granger, that you are, indeed, quite awake."

She shook her head and swallowed, her own eyes wide, dark, and half-afraid. "You're dead," she breathed with quivering lips. "I...I saw you die."

And she tasted the blood in her mouth.

Snape stared back at her, his face impassive and unreadable.

"No," he said dryly, simply. "I did not die."

But she shook her head emphatically. "No!" And this time she managed to push herself up and over the armrest, stumbling to the wooden floor with a resounding _thud. S_he blinked for a moment to get her bearings, and then crawled backwards on all fours, wincing each time either of her legs made contact with the ground until she backed into a wall. "I watched!" she gasped, her voice shaking at the end, "I saw the light leave your eyes, saw your hand fall to the ground - I saw the memory you gave Harry! Who," she breathed with wild and frantic eyes, "who _are_ you?"

Her chest rose heavily up and down as a sudden dawning horror hit her like a rouge Bludger. She started to shake.

_Oh, God._

"Polyjuice Potion?" she whispered, and then shuddered with revulsion. "But," she shook her head, "how did you get the hairs?"

Snape's mouth tightened and his jaw worked, though there was a flicker of something that crossed his eyes Hermione couldn't quite place. "Miss Granger," and he took another careful step toward her as she simultaneously scooted further back against the wall, "You've suffered a significant fall - "

"How did you get the hairs?" she demanded in a shrill voice. "They never found his body!" Her eyes were wilder than ever as unshed tears threatened to fall. "How do you have his hairs to make the Polyjuice Potion? Was it you that took him?" And then her eyes narrowed dangerously and she tried to stand. But a small whimper escaped her lips when she put pressure on her left leg and she crumbled heavily to the ground, unable to support herself. "Was it _you_?" she demanded, unperturbed by the fall, "What did you do with his body?" And then she nearly sobbed, sucking down a deep breath that sounded impossibly loud in the quiet room, "Why couldn't you have just let him be?"

Understanding slowly crept across Snape's dark eyes. It was as though someone had reached out and touched his soul in a tender spot, as unexpected as anything he had ever experienced. "Miss Granger," he said silkily, careful to keep his movements cautious, like one would around a frightened, injured animal, "I can assure you, that it is indeed I, Severus Snape, that stands before you - not an impostor."

He suddenly felt foolish he hadn't considered her reaction to seeing him. _Naturally_ she would deduce that it was someone wearing the disguise of his face. She had, after all, seen him die.

But she shook her head, as though she hadn't heard him. "Severus Snape is dead," she whispered; and she felt the anguish in her chest she knew was in her voice. "I saw him die. I was there." She met his dark eyes levelly, though her heart was skipping at infrequent intervals. "Who - who are you, then? The Death Eater that found my parents?" She swallowed thickly and held her head high with a determined look on her face.

When she felt her chin quiver for a fleeting moment, though, she inwardly cursed to herself.

_Courage, Hermione. Courage._

Forcing her face to resolve into the closest thing that resembled indifference, she said in firm tones, "Well, do your worst, you bastard. I won't tell you a thing. I don't give a _damn_ what you do to me."

She wondered if he caught the slight tremble of her voice at the end, or if he took in the after-shakes of her hands.

After what felt like an eternity, his lips twitched. "Miss Granger - "

"Get on with it!" She screamed, the silence seeming agonizing long to her as her voice reached hysterics. "Torture me, curse me! Whatever the hell it is that you were sent here to do! But I tell you, it will be for nothing!" she sobbed and bit down hard on her lower lip, "I won't tell you a thing about the Order!" And she sucked in a deep, choking breath as she braced her back against the wall, her chest heaving, "It doesn't matter what you do or say, you won't get anything from me! And the satisfaction of my death will be short lived when - "

"SILENCE!" Snape roared, his black eyes flashing dangerously. Hermione's mouth immediately snapped shut and she looked up at him, gasping for too-big breaths, brown eyes wide with devastation and tears. In the silence of the little cottage, she listened to her ragged breathing.

It sounded impossibly loud in her ears.

Snape wetted his thin lips slowly, purposefully, regarding her behind a curtain of thick, coal hair. "Miss Granger," he tried again, slowly, tightly, "calm yourself. I _am_ Severus Snape."

Something inside Hermione's stomach tightened and clenched in that moment, and she looked up at him, suddenly aware of the goosebumps on her forearms.

He looked back at her with a penetrating gaze and she instantly flinched away. "Your first day in my classroom," he said after a deep breath, looking down at his white hands, "you knew the answer to every question I asked Potter."

Hermione looked to the ground. She was _definitely _not going to cry.

"That same year at Halloween," he went on, though his deep voice somehow sounded reluctant, "a Mountain Troll was let into Hogwarts by Professor Quirrell_._"

_Oh. _

_Oh, God.  
_

_But... how can it be?_

"For whatever moronic reason," he continued, his black eyes focused, "you were in the restrooms while the other students had gone back to their common rooms; and I found you there. Along with Potter and Weasley."

Her cheeks were burning. And the weight of the world was slipping away like sand through her fingers.

"Later during that year," he drawled on, and she could hear his footsteps slowly making his way toward her, "Potter was playing Quidditch with his typical idiotic recklessness," he scoffed and his gaze shifted briefly to a small window before he turned his attention back on her. "Quirrell jinxed his broom and he fell. With your _ever_ over-zealous Gryffindor assumptions, you assumed it was me that set about to cause _The Chosen One _harm," he paused. Oddly, Hermione thought she heard a smile in his voice when he added, "And then set fire to my robes."

"You knew that was me?" she choked out, still looking at her trembling hands.

Snape said nothing for a long moment, but stared at her with his ever phlegmatic expression.

"Seven years ago," he went on with some difficulty, his face looking extremely unpleasant, almost as though he were fighting some sort of inner battle, "Potter saw my patronus. It led him to where the Sword of Gryffindor was hidden in a frozen pond," he swallowed thickly, not meeting her eyes. He hesitated only once when he added, "It...takes the form of a doe."

Slowly, the comprehension of what he said spread through her body. The seemingly insignificant details of their brief history together, the implications of where that left them; all of it.

She stopped breathing.

Her mouth dropped, and she looked up at him with with an expression that would have likely been comical given any different circumstance. For several moments she didn't say anything, and Snape stood with his perfect stillness above her. Waiting.

"Oh, God," she finally whispered, shaking her head as though the world had finally gone mad.

Snape swallowed, his Adam's apple working under the white skin of his neck, and took a tentative step forward. "Miss Granger - "

"How?" she whispered, her voice shaking as she met his dark gaze. And then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "How can it even be _possible_?"

He regarded her quietly, a few strands of black hair moving with his silent breath. "Miss Granger," he said finally, stiffly, "That is none of your concern. Now, if you will stop acting like a foolish child cowering in the corner, I was ascertain what injuries you have, and send you on your way."

"But - "

"Would you rather I left you unattended to?" he snapped, fire lighting in his black eyes. "With two likely broken legs in the middle of nowhere with no one to aid you?"

She shook her head mutely. "No."

"Then hold still," he said coldly, and at last closed the distance between them and heaved her into his arms.

Hermione was mostly silent while he examined her. Whether from shock, or fear of pressing him, she wasn't sure. _Likely a little of both. _She responded with one-worded answers when he asked if she could move her ankle in such a way, whether she felt pain if he pressed there, if she was feeling at all dizzy or lethargic.

She still felt as though she had strayed into one of her dreams. None of this was right. But here Severus Snape was, standing before her as though nothing had ever happened. As though he hadn't been presumed dead for the past seven years. Had it happened, then - had she finally gone mad? The incident with her parents had led her dreadfully close to that unforgiving road, and she had only pulled out at the last possible second. Had that experience somehow tampered with the sense of reality?

"Open your mouth," Snape commanded, instantly demanding Hermione's attention.

Briefly, she entertained the idea of refusing him. It only took a second or two, however, to decide she was far too weary to put up a fight with her typical flare - despite how humiliated she felt in the current situation. And so, of course, she obliged.

His face moved close to hers as he waited impatiently. It was, she noted irrelevantly, the closest she had ever been to him. Her heart pounded with that realization without knowing why, and when she opened her mouth and he leaned forward, his jet black hair obscured his face and she caught the scent of it.

_Pine. Spices. Wood._

She felt his breath on her face.

"There's blood in your mouth," he said flatly, taking his hand and tilting her chin upwards.

His cool touch chilled her. She shivered.

"Yes," Hermione said, closing her mouth and swallowing again - then wishing she hadn't. "I hit my jaw, I think," she mumbled uncomfortably.

He let go of her chin and frowned, folding his arms across his chest and regarding her with a calculating expression. It was a long moment before he spoke.

"Head injuries," he said simply, as though they had conversed everyday over the past seven years, "take a special art and talent. If treated incorrectly, the intended cure can cause more damage than the actual injury, itself." And then he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You've suffered a concussion. You need to see Poppy - assuming she's still alive."

Hermione frowned. "Yes," she said curtly, "she's still alive."

His jaw worked together and she could tell he was regarding her, _scrutinizing _her, and she swallowed and lowered her eyes, completely unprepared.

Severus Snape's eyes had always been difficult to meet. Somehow, Legilimency aside, they always seemed to know a bit too much. She had never been successful at holding his gaze for long (though she attempted to on numerous occasions) before she sensed that he found something within her, something guarded and hidden. While his face was normally a mask of indifference, his eyes were telling, calculating.

The very life of him.

It unnerved her how it seemed he could read her thoughts without truly reading anything at all.

"I didn't know," Hermione said mildly into the silence, keeping her gaze on her hands, "that you knew so much about healing."

He uttered a noise of indifference and then cast a spell on her left leg with his ebony wand.

She swallowed and fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve while her leg tingled, shifting slightly as she did so. Oddly, _childishly_, the sight of him with a wand made her stare. Was it not that very hand that had flourished a wand and cast the killing curse on Albus Dumbledore?

_Grow up, Hermione, _she thought, mentally slapping her forehead. And she shifted uncomfortably. _It wasn't as though he had a choice. He put the poor man out of his misery. You could only wish for that sort of courage - to do what no one else would dare; to do that which was necessary. _

She closed her eyes and sighed. _I should have been sorted into Ravenclaw._

"Will you stop moving?" Snape snapped, turning his gaze on her again. His black eyes, Hermione noted, before she lost her courage and had to look away, though intimidating, were strangely fascinating. Even with their close proximity, it was difficult to tell where the pupil ended and the iris began.

"Sorry," she muttered, and forced her nerves to calm themselves for a moment, though she was quite certain he could _hear_ the irregular rhythm of her heart. She worked anxiously on her lower lip, surreptitiously trying to sneak glances in his direction when she thought he wasn't looking.

Aloud, she asked, after a moment, "Where are we?"

He grabbed her bare ankle with one hand and she jumped slightly. "Hold still," he commanded.

Hermione frowned and tried to focus on anything besides the touch of his fingertips around her ankle. "Are there concealment charms?" she tried again, nervously playing with a strand of her curly hair, "Is that why Hagrid hasn't ever found this place?"

"If you refuse to remain still," Snape snapped, whirling on her - and again, she caught the scent of his hair - "I will have no choice but to immobilize you." His dark eyes were furious. "Am I understood?"

She nodded mutely and concentrated on steadying herself, interlacing her shaking fingers together in her lap.

He worked silently on each leg, casting various healing charms she was only vaguely familiar with. She sincerely tried to focus, to pay attention to what he was doing, but there was an endless stream of questions racing through her mind that made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. She _did _notice when he applied some sort of salve to both of her ankles where the bones had given way; her cheeks had flushed brightly as she forced herself to remain still under the cool touch of his skin.

"You've been alive all this time," she said quietly after a moment, when he had released her ankle and she could think with a little more coherency, "...why didn't you," she shook her head and concentrated on her fingers, "why didn't you come back?"

And then she looked up with hopeful eyes and licked her dry lips, willing herself to have the courage to hold his gaze when he turned it on her.

"Miss Granger," he said with distaste, shooting a murderous stare her way, "which part of_ 'it-is-none-of-your-concern'_ did you find particularly ambiguous?" And then he stopped what he was doing and put a hand on either side of her, leaning dangerously close as his dark hair fell forward. "I owe you _no_ explanations," he said viciously, and Hermione felt her heart jump into her throat as she shied back against the armrest, genuinely frightened. "I owe you _nothing_. It is _you,_ in matter of point of fact, that are indebted to me. _I_ pulled _you_ from the ravine."

"The why did you bother?" Hermione asked, the words rolling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Why even trouble yourself?" she asked harshly. "You were better off leaving me to fate."

Snape backed away from her and blinked. It was, to her recollection, the first time he had broken eye contact before she had. And there was a shift in his dark eyes as he looked down at her; and something stirred without telling.

"You know nothing about me," he said very softly, his eyes flashing. "Do not presume that you do."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I would if you'd just _tell_ me." And she reached out to grab his arm as if to reassure him, but then thought better of it and dropped it back in her lap. "If I can help you, I will."

He regarded her in silence for a long moment, his black eyes guarded and calculating. At last, he sighed, "I can see the passage of time has done nothing for your nauseating optimism. I do _not_ need any sort of help, as you put it," he said bleakly, and then added with a sneer, "and if I did, I can assure you that you would be at very the bottom of the list - just above Potter."

She frowned, and there in the gathering dark, asked what had plagued her mind since she had first realized it was truly him, and not some villain wearing the mask of his face. "Just what is it that you're hiding from, Professor? You're a hero, you know. No one faults you for your past. For...what you did."

He looked down at her sharply. "Do not concern yourself with things that don't involve you," he snapped, and the fury in his voice made him all the more intimidating. "I am _not_ in hiding."

Hermione looked around dramatically and waved her hands in the air. "What do you call this, then? A secret location in the Forbidden Forest - "

"We are not in the Forbidden Forest," Snape broke in, his voice dangerous, "and if you make one more inquiry about that which doesn't concern you, I will not hesitate to oblivate you."

Hermione's brown eyes widened to near perfect circles. "You wouldn't _dare_."

"Indeed?" Snape asked, and there was something in the air of his voice that almost felt as though he were laughing at her.

Hermione shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around his first statement. "But if we're not in the Forbidden Forest, where are we?"

He stalked over to her, a cold fury in his eyes, "Has it escaped your attention, Miss Granger, that I chose this location because I simply did not wish to be bothered?" He drew his wand again and set about to finish with her legs. "Even _Weasley _could have deduced that much. I was under the impression you were the brightest witch of your generation - or at least referred to yourself as such."

The tone of his voice indicated that was the _last _thing he thought of her.

Hermione cast him a baleful stare. "I never_ once_ called myself that."

The corners of his lips twitched. "A little more humility now than in your formative years? Really, Miss Granger, that is a..._marvelous_ accomplishment."

"I didn't ask for any of this," she scowled, gesturing to herself. "I didn't ask to be Harry's friend...to be _famous_," she spat the word with disgust. "I _liked _to study. I didn't ask for the title. I never wanted any of it."

Snape raised a dark eyebrow. "And you assume I desire fame? To return, as you put it, to be the 'war hero'?" he nearly laughed. "Yes, Miss Granger, you have uncovered my deepest longing."

She blinked. "It wouldn't have to be that way," she countered firmly.

Snape looked up. "Ah, is that so?" he asked with that ironic intonation. He seemed almost amused.

"No," she said uncertainly, clearing her throat and again tasting the blood in her mouth.

He sneered. "Lying was never one of your fortes, Miss Granger."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Well, candor has always been one of yours," she said, "so why don't you just tell me the truth and save yourself the trouble? You can't honestly tell me you wished to disappear forever. To turn into a ghost."

With a scowl etched into his forehead, he looked down at her. "You are in no position to tell me what I wish or desire."

"Then why go through the trouble of saving yourself?" she asked, exasperated. "Though _Merlin_ knows how you survived that snake bite."

His lips lifted at the sides. "Tell me, Miss Granger, just when was the last time someone referred to you as insufferable and annoying beyond all reason?"

She held her head high, refusing to take offense. "More recent than you might think."

"Ah, so I am to understand that someone besides myself has made that observation?"

Hermione scowled.

_Bastard._

She fumed to herself in silence, wondering at the pity and sympathy she had given the man when she assumed he was dead.

Oh, he was _impossible_.

He left the room at length, silently disappearing through one of the doorways. Hermione turned her attention on her modest surroundings, relaxing slightly in his absence. It was a small cottage - quaint, really, in its own right. A massive oak desk rested in the far corner below a window. Involuntarily, she imagined Snape sitting there; writing or perhaps researching something on advanced potions or the Dark Arts while the sun filtered through the window and cast an added light on the parchment or his white hands. She could almost see the tiny dust particles floating in the air, visible only through the brilliant light while he bent his head.

She shook her head abruptly, remembering herself.

There were stacks of parchment everywhere, along with phials and vials and various other potion's instruments and trinkets on three separate shelves that reached the short ceiling. And on either side of the room, there were two doors that led to what could only be a den or bedroom.

"Do you think you can manage to stand?" Snape asked tersely, coming through one of the doors and stalking towards her, another small phial in his hand.

Hermione considered it. "I can try."

With only the slightest hesitation, she swung her legs off the sofa slowly, and tentatively rested them on the wooden floor. With one hand on the arm rest, she pushed herself to her feet with some effort until she was finally standing upright, albeit shakily. The moment she released her fingers from the sofa, however, her knees buckled and she fell forward. Involuntarily, she threw her arms out to brace the fall; but a shadow came seemingly out of nowhere, and she collided with a figure that caught her roughly around her midsection. The impact released a muffled grunt from her throat.

"Perhaps not as stable as we had hoped," Snape said gravely into her hair.

Hermione looked down at the disturbing musculature of his hands on her waist and swallowed thickly.

"Erm...sorry," she muttered, and quickly tried to extricate herself from him.

He helped her back down on the sofa, thin lips resolved into a thin line of disapproval.

She looked back up at him; at those dark, enigmatic eyes and suddenly felt foolish and genuinely ashamed for pressing him earlier. Who was she to tell this man how to live his life? Was it not his own prerogative if he chose to stay and live wherever the hell it was they were in quiet, reflective solitude? He had been deeply burned by his past just as she had. And while both had suffered under two very different circumstances, both had been left scarred, vulnerable, and exposed. Her own visual recall reflected on those dark days where she would have given anything to just disappear, to cease to exist, and be no more. Yet here she was, practically demanding that the man return to society - and to do what? Be at the mercy of the public eye? To have them observe and scrutinize his every move? To suffer from the same fame she, herself, had been forcefully subjected to?

She swallowed as she held his gaze and realized with a sudden, certain clarity that she truly and honestly envied Severus Snape.

It was that half-blind intuition that prompted her to say, very quietly, "I'm sorry. About earlier. I shouldn't have pressed you."

He raised his eyebrows.

She kept her eyes on him, summoning every ounce of her Gryffindor courage to not look away.

He looked as though he might say something, but seemed to think better of it and cleared his throat. After a moment, he said, "It would be wise to have Poppy look at your jaw."

Hermione blinked. "Oh, right." She looked again to her hands. "You didn't by chance see my wand when you found me, did you? I think I dropped it when I fell."

"The real question to be asked," he said with pursed lips, reaching into his robes and procuring the intricate vinewood, "is what prompted you to run idiotically into the Forbidden Forest by yourself after dark." And very precisely, he reached out and handed the wand to her. "Of course," he added with a sneer, "with being on Potter's right arm for over a decade, I suppose rash and moronic decisions come quite naturally to you."

She jerked the wand out of his hand with narrowed eyes. "Say what you like about me, Professor, but leave Harry out of this."

"Indeed," Snape said with mock sarcasm, "we shouldn't speak poorly of the dear _Chosen One_."

Hermione cast him as baleful a stare as she could manage and said briskly, "I was helping Professor Slughorn, if you must know. Gathering ingredients for potions has become somewhat physically taxing for him. Hagrid and I help in our spare time when we can."

"Are you wanting some sort of congratulations or praise for your deeds?"

"No," she scowled. "You were the one that asked the question. I was merely answering truthfully."

"Of course," Snape snorted, "How very Gryffindor to jump at any chance to show off your nauseating deeds."

"I wasn't showing off! _You_ asked a question!"

He sneered as his lips curled, clearly pleased he and gotten a rise out of her.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Hermione went on, visibly trying to calm herself, "I'll be on my way." She made to get up but a thought struck her, and she added more quietly, "You don't need to obliviate me, you know. I won't tell anyone that I've seen you - that you're alive."

He stared at her.

"I swear it."

He looked down at her sharply, his dark eyes somewhat startled. He sighed in spite of himself, "You do not know the way, Miss Granger. We are not in the Forbidden Forest."

"Hermione," she interrupted absentmindedly, fingering a scratch on her forearm.

Again, he looked at her; startled. Puzzled, even.

"You're no longer my professor," she said nervously by way of explanation, reluctantly meeting his gaze, "It's a bit less formal, don't you think?"

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, but offered a little nod as if to acquiesce. "I'm certain your inherent Gryffindor self-righteousness would prevent you from revealing anything of me, _Hermione_," he said and opened his eyes on her again.

She stared back, uncomprehending for a brief moment. The crushing weight of the sound of her name on his tongue was almost immobilizing. "We're not in the Forbidden Forest?" she asked, back peddling a bit.

He didn't break eye contact. "No."

His earlier reluctance to answer her questions had not gone unnoticed, so she tried again with a slightly different tactic. "How _far _are we from the Forbidden Forest? Is it...within walking distance?"

Snape sighed again, deliberating for a moment. "The Forest of Avondale," he muttered, "connects with the Forbidden Forest. We are not far."

_The Forest of Avondale? _Hermione found her visual recall scanning through every book she had ever read regarding Hogwarts and the surrounding areas. The name only distantly struck a chord with her.

"Oh," she mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

Snape ran one hand through his black hair, the movement still deliberately cautious. _He must think me absolutely ridiculous. A frightened first year has more credibly than I do._ "Rest," he said rather stiffly, looking to the wooden floor. And then he went on in brusque tones, "When you think yourself sufficiently able, I will escort you to Hogwarts to see Poppy."

Hermione looked up sharply, surprised. "But what if someone sees you?"

"I have been a spy longer than the entire course of your life," he said irritably, black eyes narrowing, "I assure you, I do not find a walk through the forest too taxing." And then he added quietly, as he looked to the dark window once more, "No one will see me."

She swallowed and whispered quietly, "Oh. Well, thank you - for everything."

He looked back at her sharply. "You can thank me," he replied in terse tones, "by not being completely incompetent and avoid clumsily injuring yourself when I am in the nearby vicinity. A potion was ruined this evening that I was unable to attend to. It had been brewing for the last twenty-three days."

Hermione's eyes widened dramatically as her cheeks colored with embarrassment. "Oh! I'm - I feel so...is there any, that is," she cleared her throat, stumbling over her own words, "can I help you with fixing it? I'd be happy to, if I could. Surely, it's the least I can do after your assistance."

Snape raised a dark eyebrow. "I severely doubt you know the potion. It is significantly advanced."

Hermione looked up with curiosity. "What is it?" she asked, intrigued.

He eyed her for a moment and then made his way over to the nearest bookshelf and scanned the contents just above eye-level. "You wouldn't know it," he said brusquely.

Hermione's brow creased together. "Try me."

"While I do not doubt the useless talent you have of regurgitating information word-for-word from texts, Miss Granger," he sneered, resorting back to habit, "I can assure you, you do not know this potion."

"How do you know?" she snapped, her own brown eyes narrowing. "Don't presume that you can read me like a book either, _Professor_."

He whirled on her, crossing the short distance between them so quickly, Hermione thought for a moment he had Apparated.

"You would not know _this_ potion, Miss Granger," he said darkly, enunciating each word carefully, "because _I_ was the one that invented it."

Hermione stared at him blankly for a moment, uncomprehending. Sometime later she managed, "You - you invented it?"

"As I _said_."

She looked to the door on the left of the small room, wondering if it somehow lead to a make-shift potion's lab. "What's it called?" she asked, immediately forgetting her earlier anger. "What is its purpose?"

"Ah," he said, closing his eyes with a forced patience, "I can see that the passage of time has done nothing to refrain you from your incessant barrage of questions. When you are quite rested, I shall escort you to see Poppy."

"Don't bother," Hermione snapped, "I was only being courteous with you earlier, Professor. A gesture I should have _known_ would not be reciprocated." She placed her hands on either side of her legs and pushed herself into a standing position. "I can find my way without your help. Whatever strange form of duty or obligation you felt at finding and rescuing me should be satisfied. I no longer require your assistance."

And with that she made her way shakily forward, walking past him with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger," Snape drawled behind her, softly grabbing the back of her cloak to stop her. "If you could manage the slightest amount of patience, I shall grab my traveling cloak and accompany you."

"And what if I don't want your company?" Hermione asked bluntly, rounding on him.

His thin lips almost smiled. "I have never been a man that has catered to the wants of others, Miss Granger."

"Obviously," she mumbled, though she was certain he heard her.

He quickly grabbed his ebony cloak and fastened the clasp around his neck. With his left hand, he gestured to the door on the right. "By all means, Miss Granger," he sneered. "After you, if you please."

Hermione scowled, but moved past his extended arm and made her way slowly though a narrow hallway that merged into a rather forgettable entryway. Once she had shakily made her way down the front steps of the wooden porch, she muttered under her breath, "_Lumos!_"

"Well, Miss Granger," Snape said, coming down the steps behind her. "I do not have all day. Do lead on."

"_You_ are the one that insists on accompanying _me,_" Hermione huffed. "And I thought I politely asked you to not call me that," she added irritably, "I'm no longer your student."

"And just what is it," Snape asked in a bored tone, "that would make you think I might acquiesce to your personal preferences, _Miss Granger_?"

_Bastard._

"You said it earlier. My real name."

He shrugged, scanning the surrounding area. "Slip of the tongue."

_Definite bastard._

But it was a curious thing, the way he insisted on following her to the castle. Perhaps, Hermione reflected with wide eyes, he was planning on following her to where she fell, and then obliviating the last hour from her memory forever.

No.

She shook her head and stared out into the thick darkness, a light breeze ruffling her hair. No. He had said he trusted her to be a woman of her word, hadn't he? There was no point in making such a revelation if he didn't truly believe it - even if he _did_ intend to oblivate her. And then she thought back to the potion he had been brewing for the better part of a month and felt sick.

_Pity,_ she thought wryly as she stared ahead at the silhouettes of the great evergreens, _that he hates me know. Though_, she back peddled,_ it wasn't as though we were on friendly terms _before_ he died - er, disappeared._

"Miss Granger," Snape said irritably into the gathering silence, "allow me to remind you that I do not have the luxury of an infinite amount of time. As I before mentioned, there is a potion I would like to attempt to salvage."

Hermione scowled and then hobbled forward, "Go attend to it, then. Allow _me_ to remind _you _that I did not request your presence here. Consider my heart-felt gratitude at what you've already done, and I'll be on my way."

She managed four steps before she felt his hand on her cloak for the second time that night.

"Perhaps," he sneered, and turned her to the left, "if you began your excursion in the correct direction, I would be more inclined to oblige. As it is," he said tersely, "your sense of direction is evidently comparable to that of how well you ascertain the proximity of ravines and the subsequent dangers associated with it. I, for one, would rather not deal with the repercussions of procuring you from another near death experience in the forest. Especially," he added disdainfully, "if I am in the middle of a potion."

Hermione cursed under her breath, a habit she had recently picked up from Ron despite how many times she scolded him for it.

"Language, Miss Granger," Snape said as he fell into step behind her. "It lowers the opinion others might have of your purported intelligence. I was unaware your vocabulary was so limited."

"Well," Hermione said stiffly, carefully maneuvering her way around a large boulder, "I've never been one to care much of what others think of me."

"I find that difficult to believe," Snape said dryly, raising his wand arm to give added light as they moved single-file between two large trees, "considering the incident with Mr. Malfoy and your teeth. You must think the world dreadfully unobservant."

Hermione blanched and ducked under a low tree branch. "You'd be surprised," she shot back, somewhat chagrined, "it took Ron and Harry over a month to notice."

"So you admit you are fickle," Snape said with an ounce of triumph in his deep voice, "And I do hope you are aware that comparing Weasley and Potter to the rest of humanity is doing the world a great disservice."

Ignoring the jab, Hermione snapped, "It's none of your concern, anyway."

"Ah," he drawled, obviously quite pleased with himself, "not quite as enjoyable to be on the receiving end of the accusations, now is it, Miss Granger?"

"I never accused you of anything."

He smirked, "Maybe not. The intonation, however, was clear enough."

She pressed on, trying to distance herself from him, though the throbbing in her ankles didn't allow her much freedom. "Just say what's on your mind, _Professor_. You're starting to sound like Dumbledore with all the vague implications."

The moment the former headmaster's name left her lips, she realized her blunder. She visibly flinched and then turned around to face him, wide-eyed and still. _Hermione, you social elephant._ "I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I didn't - I shouldn't have brought him up. I didn't think to realize - "

"If you have a point," Snape said, his voice dangerously soft, "I suggest you come to it."

She shook her head quickly. "That was it. I'm sorry, is all."

He stared at her for a long moment, his black eyes mad with fury - a maelstrom; and Hermione was quite certain she could _feel_ his anger. Without warning, he moved stealthily past her and the light from his wand dimmed dramatically as he disappeared into the forest. "Hurry up," he hissed back at her, weaving his way through the trees, "HURRY!" he shouted. "I will not waste a moment more in your presence!"

Hermione swallowed, feeling thoroughly miserable, and did her best to keep up, though she still remained several paces behind him. Partly, she told herself, it was because she could not physically match his pace, and partly - a _greater_ part, she was certain - was out of fear. She stared ahead in awkward silence, mentally slapping herself.

_How could I have been so foolish? To bring up the _one_ thing he surely wished to never discuss? The murder of his closest friend and mentor at his own hand?  
_

_Brilliantly done, Hermione. You just ripped the scab off the wound.  
_

Lost in her own thoughts, she was abruptly startled when Snape stopped short several paces in front of her and held up a hand for her to remain still. Instinctively she clutched her wand with white knuckles. Once she was certain she had several curses on the tip of her tongue to use as her arsenal, she held her breath and strained her ears to listen for anything that appeared amiss. She felt the sudden acceleration of her own heartbeat as her eyes scanned through the darkness, searching for any movement.

After a long moment, the muscles in Snape's back relaxed. He lowered his wand arm and glanced back at her. "A deer," he said, by way of explanation.

Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow and made her way over to him. "How can you be sure?"

He placed his wand in the safety holster of his robes and pointed with a long, pale index finger to the ground just off to their right. "Fresh tracks," he said simply.

Hermione studied the tracks as Snape moved onward without her. With her heart still pounding forcefully against her ribcage, she took a few deep breaths to steady herself.

The rest of their journey was rather uneventful. Eventually, Hermione came to recognize the familiar sights and sounds that was distinctive to the Forbidden Forest, even in the pregnant darkness. _Odd,_ she thought, _that of all places, I'd recognize this one._ The sight of the deep forest mist - a sight that had previously chilled her - was strangely comforting.

_Not much further_, she reasoned.

"Miss Granger," Snape said sardonically as Hermione stumbled over to him in the center of a small clearing, speaking for the first time since the incident with the deer, "if you were any slower and that _had_ a Death Eater or any other dark creature of the Forbidden Forest, you would have been dead before you even had time to _think_ to draw your wand."

Hermione stared up at him blankly and then shrugged, suddenly feeling exhausted. "I'm tired."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "This is your _life_ I'm referring to - not some reference to whether you have been sleeping properly," he said in brusque tones. "It's a wonder you managed to _survive_ the War."

She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Verbally sparring with the man was pointless. No matter what others said of her intelligence and wit, she doubted she could win a war-of-words with Severus Snape when her mind _was _sharp and focused - let alone when she was dead on her feet. So again, she shrugged and replied stiffly, "It's seems a bit irrelevant since it was only a deer."

He stared at her, though her wild hair was obstructing much of the view of her face. At length he said, "If you expect me to indulge in this self-imposed pity, Miss Granger, I can assure you that you are gravely mistaken."

"I'm not asking for pity," she said dully, moving to walk around him, "I'm just tired."

He seized her wrist when she was within reaching distance and held her still for a long moment.

"Let-go-of-me!" Hermione huffed, tugging away from him with each word.

But Snape kept his hold on her arm, his black eyes boring down on her with an expression she had never seen on him.

_Is he trying to read my mind?_

Immediately she broke eye contact with him. "You know, man-handling me isn't going to - "

"Something happened to you," Snape said sternly, though there was an odd note of contrition in his voice.

She looked up at him sharply and then yanked her arm out of his grasp and rubbed it gingerly as she walked out of the clearing, lighting her wand once again. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said defensively.

He sneered, "As I have said, lying does not become you. It would not take a skilled Legilimens to know something is amiss."

"Even _if_ something was amiss," she said haughtily, throwing his own words back at him, "you'd be the last person on the list I'd consult about it."

And then feeling the overwhelming mental and physical exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours, she stumbled over to a thick trunk, leaned heavily against it, and closed her eyes. "I know where I am, now," she said, her voice weary, "you can go."

She heard him walk over to her, his footsteps snapping a few dried twigs on the forest floor. Finally, slowly, he said with deceptive mildness, "You are in no condition to be wandering around the Forbidden Forest by yourself."

She opened her eyes on him. "Don't do me any favors, Professor, I'm not a helpless first-year," she said harshly. "I don't _need_ a baby-sitter. I gave you my word earlier that I wouldn't say anything about finding you. If you'd like an Unbreakable Vow out of me, let's just get on with it, then."

"Stubborn woman!" Snape spat, lowering his head so they were nearly eye-level. "Are you so incapable to accept even the _slightest_ bout of assistance when it comes your way?"

"I don't need your help!" she shouted, and suddenly felt as though she might sob. "I don't need _anyone's_ help!"

He backed away from her then, mildly startled. It was silent for a long moment.

"I assumed you had some shred of intelligence, Miss Granger. Evidently I was mistaken."

Hermione stared up at him with wet eyes.

"Perhaps," he said coldly as he turned to walk away from her, "your parents should have taught you some manners."

"They can't," she spat bitterly as the tears finally did fall, and she too, turned to walk away from him, "They're dead."

Severus froze mid-stride and listened to her walk away from him, her soft sobs echoing loudly through the forest.

* * *

_A/N: So sorry for the long wait, folks. I've been running like mad (quite literally), and only just got back from Vegas and doing a half-marathon. (kill me now) This chapter proved to be immensely difficult to write. Getting Snape's and Hermione's first reactions to seeing one other was beyond difficult. Comments on how well it flowed would certainly be helpful. I'm quite excited to where the story is heading from here. Hopefully, my next update shouldn't take as long. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews so far._


	4. Chapter 4

_"Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future."_

- Fulton Oursler

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**

* * *

  
**

Severus Snape sat very still at his cedar desk some five hours after he watched Hermione Granger wearily make her way through the safety of Hogwarts' gates.

The sun was just beginning to flicker through the small window to his left and he watched the orange light steadily creep across his unmoving pale hands, announcing the start of another day. It was with a defeated groan, when he could not bare to watch the light any longer, that he buried his face in his hands and leaned forward, elbows propping themselves up on his desk.

_Ah, Merlin. How had it come to this?_

Severus did not know what to make of Hermione Granger.

It was that fact alone that had kept him from his bed that night, that had left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. A seasoned spy, he had studied the minute facets of observance, the seemingly insignificant details. It was Dumbledore who had relied on him for that very talent -- more times that he could count. But this Hermione Granger, this _woman_, he shook his head; he did not know her. He was momentarily at a loss, completely unprepared for all the questions that had begun racing through his head since he left her.

_Her eyes._

He had read once somewhere in the thousand thousand texts he had perused over the course of his lifetime that the eyes project energy. Light. What some referred to as a 'soul'. And that imagery -- the window to a soul or to a person's raw energy -- had never left him. He had seen it, first hand, in the hundreds of victims in the aftermath of Death Eater raids. The light, the energy of those cold, unmoving bodies had undeniably fled. And he had seen just the opposite in his students. Bright, vibrant eyes that reflected the light and energy of incessant curiosity -- or at least was the case with Miss Granger.

His visual recall swam back over the last twenty-four hours, over every detail he could think on. Hermione Granger's eyes were as lifeless and unfeeling as any corpse he had the unhappy misfortune to bury or incinerate.

_And why should I care? Why should her lack of interest affect me?_

She was worn down, any fool could see that. He racked his memory for every detail of their time spent together in his former life. He needed to study, analyze, and compare. Her eyes, as far as he could recall, had at least _some_ spark of energy at one point in time.

_Of course they did, you fool. Every assignment handed out, every stir in her potion; there was always something there. _

It was with a profound agitation and an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach that he thought of her, scooting out of his chair and pacing absentmindedly as he did so. He thought back on her school years, at her sickening idealism. While he had never observed her to be particularly gregarious, she had never been a loner, either. His promise to Dumbledore, the promise to protect Potter at any cost, had inadvertently included watching over her. Her fate had become so entwined with _The Chosen One_, it had become virtually impossible to ignore her as he watched Potter from afar.

He knew she was gentle, honest, and respectful, adjectives one wasn't likely to find in Slytherin House and traits he had been utterly unable to warm to. He had seen her stand up for others with no thought to herself; a quality, which, quite disturbingly, reminded him of a certain ginger-haired Gryffindor he had known long ago. And he had long suspected the reason she threw herself into her studies was a vain attempt to fit in -- something she had fought with the students in his own house on a daily basis.

But she was utterly annoying.

How the other professors sang praises to her day after day was simply _beyond_ him. He dreaded having her in his classes each year. As if Potter, the dimwitted buffoon Longbottom, and Weasley weren't enough to deal with -- Granger, with her exasperating enthusiasm, would practically _demand _his attention with every question posed, waving her arm idiotically in the air, and would then have the audacity to recite sentences - no, _paragraphs _- from texts, verbatim.

It was infuriating.

And he had been purposefully cruel to her. Malicious, even.

He recalled one such occasion during her fifth year. It surprised him the memory was so clear, his dark premonitions about Umbridge, notwithstanding. She had raised her hand knowingly in the air the moment he finished speaking. He vaguely recalled wondering if answering a question for her was similar to the Pavlov's Dog effect. A question posed, a hand in the air. "Well, you see, sir, the potion won't begin to ferment until after - "

"You don't see much, Miss Granger," he had cut in, practically spitting her name. "It would be prudent to put yourself in the shoes of someone wiser than you are, and look from that angle. To be stuck in ignorance, to be circumscribed by the walls of one's own lacking acumen, well, it is very sad in one so young and _bright._"

"But sir - "

"Enough! Another word and it will be twenty points from your house, Miss Granger."

Sighing heavily to himself, he ran his hands through his long hair as he thought of her wearisome persistence. He had seen the look of hurt of her face when he insulted her, but in true Gryffindor fashion, she had come to his next class, having seemingly forgotten his cruel words and the vicious cycle began once again -- her demanding attention, and he, insulting her, taking house points, and issuing detentions. His last course of action had been to ignore her altogether in order to save what little sanity he had left. _That_, at least, had seemed to work, if even in the smallest degree.

And so it had taken him infinitely longer to discover that her mind, in fact, was astonishing.

That realization disturbed him more than he would care to admit. Her mind -- _Oh, Merlin, her mind -- _was full of unimagined possibilities and limitless potential. Of course, he had never once admitted it to her; it had taken him several years to silently acknowledge the fact that she was brilliant. But he knew even if he _had_ been able to praise Gryffindor House he would have kept quiet about it. She already had every other professor, the headmaster, and her peers singing her praises; there was no need to add his voice to the gushing choir.

When he had at last grudgingly given into the revelation of her brilliance and went back through some of her older assignments, he discovered her essays and theories went far beyond reciting texts. They contained visionary, remarkable work. It was nearly surreal. Citations and footnotes he had previously ignored out of annoyance presented authenticated arguments, posed well-thought out questions, and left him with an overall sensation that he was profoundly out of his depth.

How did one deal with a student that, while, half his age, could easily become an apprentice before she finished her standard education?

Without planning to he had often caught himself observing her when she was writing in class, vengefully scribbling away on a piece of parchment. Oddly, he found himself wondering what new thought had popped into her head in that particular moment; what new case or theory she would present. He would later read her work, struck by the silent passion of her writing, at how she could feel out the different patterns of potions -- patterns that any other student wouldn't know how to make connections with if laid out with an elementary diagram -- and would reread it again, completely baffled.

But he had more ominous things to dwell on at that time.

With the Dark Lord becoming increasingly anxious and the Death Eaters gaining confidence, the genius of Hermione Granger soon fell to the bottom of his priority list. And once Albus had placed that damnable ring on his finger and it was a daily struggle to keep the ailing man alive, he did not think on her again. Each day was a step further into the darkness.

But now, pacing in the comfort of his little cottage, he wondered how he had come to be subjected to her infuriating presence once again.

_Seven years._

He had seen her by pure accident near the Forbidden Forest when he returned, unseen, from the Black Lake with a satchel full of Murtlap. It was a late summer evening; he had assumed his trip to the lake would go unnoticed. But he clutched his wand tightly when he saw the moving figure, felt the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. With a deep breath and a curse on the tip of his tongue, he stealthily circumvented his way around the little clearing. As he watched through narrowed eyes, he soon recognized the posture, the lightness of gait, and when she turned and the moonlight caught her face, he knew it was her.

He watched as she foolishly cried over Dumbledore's grave. _Typical. __Idiotic,_ _sentimental Gryffindo_rs_, the lot of them_. But it was when he saw her kneel and press her trembling fingertips to her lips and then touched_ his_ name on the white tomb, that he nearly dropped his satchel. He almost jumped, startled as he was by the intimacy of the gesture. And for one long moment, he was too shocked to move.

She had mumbled something to herself, though the faint words were incoherent -- completely lost to him. He _did_ see her tilt her head back and look up at the black silk sky, exposing the white of her neck. And then, just as suddenly as he had stumbled upon her, she gathered herself to her feet and made her way back up the little pathway.

He had assumed, nonsensically, that that had been the end of it. But of course, the damnable fates had somehow seen to it that it wasn't merely enough for him to see Gryffindor's know-it-all _princess_ in that one, brief moment._ No, that would have been far too simple._

Again he had been in the Forbidden Forest, gathering herbs for his winter storage before the weather became too dismal, when he had heard the sharp scream cut through the heavy silence of night.

He froze. The impulse to run away from the sound was nearly overpowering -- _your cover will be blown forever, you fool. Was solitude not what you desired? --_ but the surrounding decisions of his character had been made long ago and he knew, despite what it might cost him, that he could not walk away. With one deep breath, he dimmed the light of his wand and cautiously moved through the night, toward the sound of the scream. The path was familiar enough, despite the thick darkness at the heart of the Forest, and it wasn't long before he came to the ravine, treacherous and hidden under the night sky.

Wordlessly, he cast a quick charm and, unsurprisingly, it detected a human form somewhere below him. With another deft flick of his wand, he simultaneously cast a silencing and concealment charm, and then made his way down the steep path. When at last he reached the bottom, and stood before the motionless body, he almost forgot to breathe.

Laying crumpled before him on the forest floor was Hermione Granger.

In the silent half-dark he watched her face. It hadn't moved, but he saw the faint movement of her hair by her mouth and knew at least she was breathing. Both of her legs twisted out from underneath her at odd angles, likely broken; there were angry red marks on her face from where she scrapped along the side wall or hit the earth. He stood there for a long moment, frozen in place, as the wind rustled the leaves on the trees around him.

In his mind's eye he saw her walking carelessly through the Forest -- doing Merlin knew what idiotic thing in the middle of the night -- until she reached the edge of the ravine, slipped, and fell. He looked up to gauge how far she had fallen, but a muffled whimper from her prone position brought his immediate attention to her, and he deftly pocketed his wand, found her own resting only a few meters away, and then stooped to gather her in his arms.

She's wasn't light, nor was she heavy; but he felt the strain on his arms and back as he slowly made his way back up from where he came. Her head lolled limply against his shoulder and he caught the scent of her. It was light. Distinctively womanly. _Severus, you fool, saving her will destroy everything you've worked so hard to protect. _He racked his brain as he ascended through the darkness. How could he summon Poppy without giving himself away? While he had never spoken of his Patronus to anyone, Potter knew its shape. Who else could he have told? Especially since he, himself, was now presumed dead?

Perhaps he could leave her by the main entrance of Hogwarts for Minerva to find. _No,_ he shook his head to himself, disgusted by his soft, sentimental nature, _Argus won't patrol the grounds until morning. She could have sustained permanent damage to her legs by that time._

And so as he argued with himself and racked his brain, he continued along in the darkness until he realized he had arrived at Avondale. _Wonderful. Another member of the Golden Trio is about to destroy your life forever, Severus. You're a sentimental, weak fool. _He adjusted the dead weight of her in his arms -- which were now burning -- and maneuvered her against his chest so he could reach into his cloak to retrieve his wand.

Once he made his way through the small cottage and placed her on the sofa, he stared down at her, rubbing his aching arms, still floored by the irony or it all.

In the seven years it had been since he had last seen her, she had made the inevitable change from girl to woman. His jaw worked as he massaged his upper arms. _A woman. _He could tell she had a womanly figure, with soft curves protruding through her form-fitting crimson robe, though he doubted any wizard walking down the street would stop in his tracks. Her face was rather plain. Pale. With freckles scattered recklessly across her cheeks and nose. Her lips, he observed, with a deep scowl etched into his forehead, were at least full. And her hair was strangely appealing, in an odd awful way, with curls that stood out in every direction. The frizzyness of her formative years, at least, seemed to have been somewhat tamed.

There were faint lines at the corners of her eyes that would be difficult to find in a younger girl. But her overall countenance appeared different. Aged -- not from the passage of time -- but rather, from weathering the onslaught of life.

He recognized that look. He had seen it on himself when he looked in the mirror.

Without planning to, his mind wandered back to her school days and the infinite potential of her mind. What was she doing with her life now? She could have been anything_. _An Auror, a servant of the Ministry, a professor. A mind like hers knew no bounds. He frowned and scratched the thin layer of stubble on his chin. _Why in Merlin's name was she doing running around the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night? And why had she been at the graves?_

And then, she stirred.

Now, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, he thought back on her every movement. On each word. It was obvious she was broken -- the revelation that her parents were dead, notwithstanding. She had never had the starry-eyed love of herself the way Draco or even Weasley did, but there had always been a certain light about her. Whatever it had been, whatever it was, it most certainly was gone now.

What had become of her parents? Had it been an accident?

He sighed, running a hand through his black hair -- a habit becoming more common as of late -- and stood, breathing in the comforting scent of musty books that permeated the small space.

No. Surely it couldn't have been an accident if they were both dead. He frowned deeply. Death Eaters? That certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibility. With her public relationship to Potter and several known Death Eaters still on the run, it would only be _too_ easy to find out where they lived and dispatch of them both quickly.

Or not so quickly.

Severus shivered at the thought. He was aware of all manner of evil in principle, though he never grew shocked by its violence, its lack of mercy, or destruction. Pacing the small area, he clutched violently at his hair, unable to shake the memory of her lost, pale face.

"Insufferable woman!" he shouted to himself in the silence.

And then, against every instinct or raging voice inside his head, he went to the closet to grab his traveling cloak.

000

"What a novel idea," Ginny said with a pleased smile in the backyard of the Burrow, looking up from the grass to both Harry and Ron. "We'll have a big picnic here before term starts as one last hurrah for Hermione." She turned to a witch with long, thick curls who was laying not far from her on the grass, looking up at the clouds on the clammy late summer evening. "It'll have to be a fantastically large party, you know, since we likely won't see you till Christmas after that."

Hermione chuckled softly. "Trust me, Ginny. You wouldn't _want_ to see me during term. I barely have time to remember to eat."

"It's still a month or so off, though," Ron chimed in, pulling his knees to his chest and chewing loudly on a biscuit, "so at least you don't have to think on it for awhile. Blimey," he added as a thought struck him and he turned to Harry, "wouldn't it be brilliant if we had three months off from work in the summer?" He looked wistful as he took another bite. "I should have been a teacher."

"As _if_ you could pass the exams, Ron," Ginny huffed.

Harry laughed once, loudly. "Yeah, mate. I don't think it was in our blood. Just think of all the reading and research we'd have to do."

"_And_ additional courses," Ginny chimed in.

Ron stopped, mid-chew, and looked pensive. "You're right," he said. "I just think it's damn unfair you don't have anything to worry about during the summer, Hermione."

"There's plenty to worry about," Hermione retorted, pressing her palm to the grass and propping herself up on one elbow. "The headmistress _still_ hasn't found a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year, and I _know_ she's searched everywhere."

"Well, the bloody job's cursed," Ron offered, wiping his hands on his trousers. "It's not a wonder."

Hermione rolled her eyes and then fixed her gaze on Harry. "McGonagall would make an exception for you, you know. You could take the examinations later - "

Harry shook his head, cutting her off. "I know, Hermione. But we've already had this discussion. It would be brilliant to teach Defense, but I wouldn't want to be away from Ginny that long. And besides," he added with a broad smile as he turned to his wife and pulled her against him, eliciting a small giggle from her, "we're wanting to try to have a family soon."

"Too much bloody information," Ron cursed loudly, covering his ears and standing to walk away. "I don't need to hear about your bedroom shenanigans or anything that travels remotely close to that road."

"Oh, come on, Ron!" Ginny shouted as Harry kissed the top of her head. "Harry just likes to get a rise out of you, is all. Get back over here you big twit!"

"Nah," Ron called, making his way back to the house, "Mum's got dessert on. You two can stay there and whisper sweet nothings to each other all you like. Care to join me, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head and waved him on, settling back into the cool grass and fixing her gaze on the dimming summer sky as she searched for the first traces of the night's stars.

"So," Harry began awkwardly after a moment, clearing his throat, and Ginny stood to follow suit after Ron, making her way quickly to the house, "Everything alright with you, Hermione? You've been...quiet this last week."

Hermione looked at him with a wiry, strong expression. The crickets had only just begun their nightly serenade. "What," she said slowly, "did I tell you when you asked me last week, Harry?"

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his unruly hair as he scooted closer to her and sat cross-legged. "Subtly notwithstanding, Hermione, I'm sure you're tired of me - "

"Then stop," Hermione cut in, her voice firm. "You don't need to worry about me, Harry. I'm fine."

He nodded uncertainly, green eyes intense behind his glasses. "Right. Of course," he swallowed, scratching the back of his head. "Well, you had a bit of a limp when I saw you last. Did you hurt your leg?"

Hermione closed her eyes, annoyed. To calm herself, she breathed in the deep, sweet scent of the summer grass and counted to ten. "I was helping Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. I...tripped over a log. Twisted my ankle a bit, I suppose. Nothing serious."

That, she reflected ruefully, had posed a bigger problem than she had originally anticipated.

After she left Snape in the Forest and wearily made her way through the thick iron gates, Hagrid had been in the main entrance, sobbing hysterically to an out-of-sorts Minerva McGonagall. The headmistress had been positively livid.

"Where have you _been_?" Minerva demanded, tears in her pale eyes as she rushed over to Hermione in one graceful stride and wrapped the younger woman in her thin, wiry arms. "Are you at all injured? What happened?" She looked up at the younger woman, startled. "Hagrid told me he couldn't find you - I was just getting ready to summon the Aurors to begin a search party! Are you alright, child?"

Unable to speak, Hermione could only nod and held onto the older woman longer than was necessary. Beside her, Hagrid was breathing a little raggedly, and his broad cheeks were wet with tear tracks. "Yeh okay there, 'ermione?" he asked, dabbing his eyes with his beard.

Again Hermione nodded, suddenly feeling too weak to do anything else.

"Come dear," Minerva said soothingly, patting Hermione on the back. "I'm taking you to Poppy this instant."

And ever since that night, Minerva had scarcely let her out of her sight. Hermione knew the older woman was no fool. After six years of being her Head of House and several additional years of mentoring, it didn't take much for the headmistress to know something was amiss.

"Well," said Harry, putting his hand on his knee and rising to his feet, "Molly's dessert sounds brilliant right about now. You coming?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm not hungry, thanks. I'll be in in a moment. It's a lovely night."

He glanced at her uncertainly, but then slowly made his way to the house.

Picking up a long blade of grass beside her and flicking it between her fingers, Hermione heard snippets of the '_private'_ conversation in the Burrow the moment Harry walked through the back door.

" - DEFINITELY wrong with her."

"Let her alone, will you? She's dealing with it in her own way, mate. Quit shoving it down her throat every five minutes that her parents are dead. Let her at least _try_ to forget."

"Ron's right, Harry. If she wants to talk about it, she will. Pulling teeth is only going to push her away."

"Look, I know, alright? I get it. Everyone seems to forget that my parents are dead, too."

"Harry," Ginny warned, "This is different and you know it."

"Yeah, I do. I do. I just..." -- And Hermione could almost see him running one hand through his hair, and then resting it on his neck -- " Do you ever wonder, that... I don't know," Harry's faint voice trailed off and Hermione had to strain to hear what he was saying, "...that she might try to do herself a harm?"

"Harry!" Ginny's shocked voice cried. "Hermione is _not_ suicidal! I can't believe you would even _think _such a thing. She's _grieving_."

Hermione groaned and rolled over to her side, away from the house.

Was she ever going to be able to escape this? Would her life, for even the briefest of moments, resemble anything close to normalcy? Would she ever be able to find herself as lucky as Professor Snape -- to just disappear?

Her fingers twitched. _No, _she thought with a defeated sigh, _No,_ _I cannot abandon those who have refused to abandon me._

And so she steadied herself with a few deep breaths, looked once more up at the stars, and then stood to join her friends in the kitchen.

000

A week later, Hermione sat folded up on the shore of the Black Lake, letting the wind play with her hair as she chewed quietly on a piece of bread with jam. Beside her lay two of her favorite Muggle books; a collection of Dicken's works and an infinitely more precious, albeit ancient-looking copy of a much lesser known tale. The late afternoon wind tore the leaves from the trees and set a white ripple across the vast lake.

"You are as predictable as the day is long," came a deep voice from behind her, and Hermione whipped her head around and drew her wand faster than it took her to blink. "One would think a book might be an extra appendage for you, Miss Granger."

Unless her sanity was failing her, Severus Snape was standing above her in broad daylight. He gestured to her little stash of books with a slight incline of his chin.

Hermione wrinkled her brow, trying to hide her surprise at seeing him. "It's still light," she said warily, her gaze flicking back to the castle. "Someone could see you."

Severus didn't seem inclined to comment.

"So what was it, then? A repellent charm? Notice-Me-Not?" she asked in a rush, listening as her heart found its regular rhythm again.

His lip curled. "Brightest witch of her generation," he said in ungracious tones.

They stayed like that for some time -- Snape looking down his long nose at her, and Hermione, still gripping her wand -- wondering what on earth would possess him to seek her out.

"What are you reading?" he finally asked.

Hermione pulled the lesser known work to her chest and closed it hastily. "Nothing."

"Ah," he sneered, "the universal Gryffindor response of stupidity."

She scowled, and responded with as much scorn as she was capable, "Was there something you needed, _Professor_?"

His narrowed black eyes scanned their surroundings for a moment before he fixed his gaze on her. "It appears amongst your other shortcomings that you have a rather poor memory, Miss Granger."

She lifted one, curved brow. "Oh?"

"Yes," he pushed on with annoyance. "A potion of mine was ruined. If your memory served you properly, you might recall me recounting such an incident," he drawled. "A potion, I might add, that took a considerable amount of time to brew."

Hermione swallowed and stood, feeling increasingly wary of his looming form. "No," she said, brushing off her robes. "No, I hadn't forgotten."

"Ah, so you have merely chosen to ignore your mistakes?"

"Pardon _me_, Professor," snapped Hermione in a passion, taking one reckless step closer to him, "but what are you on about? I thanked you for your earlier assistance and when I inquired if I could remedy the wrong I caused, you _emphatically_ informed me that it was," she paused and feigned pensive, "what was it? Oh, yes. Too _advanced_ for me."

A corner of his thin mouth twitched. "That," he said with an ironic intonation, "is something we have yet to see."

She frowned. "So, what? I have a return invitation now? You want my help?"

"Do not flatter yourself, Miss Granger," Severus sneered. "You have done a wrong. I am merely giving you the outlet to right it."

_Well, of all the -- who does this man think he is?_

"And what are you?" Hermione huffed in annoyance, "my priest? I said I'd help you before. You don't need to rub it in my face again, Professor."

They stared at each other a long moment, neither saying anything. Hermione, as usual, was the first to break eye contact.

"If you please, Miss Granger," Severus said, warily eying their surroundings once more, "I do not have all day and it is still daylight."

"Perhaps," Hermione said, stooping to pick up her things, "you should cast a better repellent charm next time."

The corners of his mouth lifted into what could only be described as a strange smile. "Perhaps." He stood back and gestured toward the forest with his ward arm. "After you, Miss Granger."

_In for a penny, in for a pound, Severus._

He felt like a stalker, following behind her through the Forest. A hunter. To her credit, she didn't once look behind her. Perhaps she didn't care if he was watching her, prowling like an animal as she made her way through the overgrown Forest. But this quiet, subdued woman was unknown to him. Where was the inquisitive girl that never ceased to ask questions? Where was her infuriating optimism? He was quite certain he did not know how to handle quiet, despondent women. Especially _this_ quiet, despondent woman.

And the uncertainty unnerved him.

After a long moment, she stopped in her tracks and broke the silence. "I don't remember the way," she said quietly, turning to face him.

He stealthily came up beside her and moved ahead, not bothering to look at her. "Follow me."

She followed in silence, a few paces behind him. Again he thought of her parents, of what might have happened to them. Death and dying -- he had come to view both as a sort of pattern; strangely beautiful in their own way. Memento Mori: the constant reminder of death. The brevity of life. Each human, no matter their circumstance, would eventually meet death.

He wondered how her parents had met it.

At length they reached Avondale and Hermione hesitated on the threshold, taking in the quaint exterior she previously couldn't discern in the dark. Around her, the sunlight waned through the thick evergreens.

"Home, sweet home, Miss Granger," he said brusquely. "I am not in a humor to waste the day dawdling on the front porch. Now," he bit out, "if you're quite done taking in the surroundings, let us get underway."

She blushed, embarrassed, and passed quickly through the narrow entryway and made her way into the small room she had been incapacitated in not a week earlier.

"Is that your laboratory?" she asked awkwardly after a moment, nodding her chin toward the doorway on the left.

Severus pulled at the clasp on his neck, letting loose his traveling cloak. Very precisely, he rolled up the cuffs on his sleeves. "Yes," he said, simply.

Hermione looked with curiosity at the doorway as she fingered her wand. "What kind of potion is it?"

He paused briefly, and then said rather stiffly, "Something unprecedented."

She turned to face him, and the dullness of her eyes seemed to sift for a moment. "In what field?"

He sighed. Her incessant questions, at least, he was familiar with. "It is...an attempt to create a potion that will counteract the after-effects of the Cruciatus."

She appeared to have not heard him until a moment later when her mouth dropped. "T-The - are you serious?"

"I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Miss Granger; nor do I joke."

She didn't doubt it.

She shook her head and pushed her long bangs out of her face with one hand. "But...how is that even possible? When you said something unprecedented, I assumed you meant," she paused, stumbling over her words. "But...you would have to get a patent with the Ministry - "

"Yes," Snape said snidely, rounding on her, "those were my next intentions, precisely. To walk up to the Ministry, present myself -- along with a detailed list of every Dark ingredient -- and to remain in custody while their incompetent employees attempted experiments with the potion to ascertain its validity."

She stared back at him, startled. "But without a patent you could end up in Azkaban."

He sneered, "Fortunately for myself, Miss Granger, as I am presumed dead, that should not be a problem."

Hermione reeled over the implications. A potion that counteracted the after-effects of the Cruciatus would be nearly as monumental and earth-shattering as presenting a cure for HIV in the muggle world. It was, as Professor Snape said, unprecedented. But she swallowed thickly as the other implication hit her. If she was discovered to have any connection in the experimentation process of such a potion without Ministry approval, she would serve a sentence in Azkaban. The Ministry, she was confident, wouldn't think twice about it -- member of the Golden Trio or not. Dizzyingly romantic that she was presented with such a holy gift, such an opportunity to participate in something that could easily rewrite every history text in the wizardingly world; it wasn't.

Instead of stating the obvious, she asked, "How far did you get last time? Before it was ruined, I mean."

He carefully pulled a piece of lint off his robe and brushed his hands together. "Not far enough," he said shortly.

She nodded and looked up at his face, at the jet-black hair and the dark eyes in shadow beneath it. "I feel...privileged that you would even think to share something like this with me," she shook her head, "but I don't understand it. You've never warmed to me," she chuckled once, as though she couldn't help it. "And that's putting it mildly. And so I keep looking for the Slytherin motive in it -- what you could possibly gain by having me here," she rubbed the back of her neck," but I can't see what's to be gained," she shrugged helplessly and looked up at him with a small smile, "though I _do_ hear the accommodations in Azkaban have improved significantly over the past several years."

His lips twitched briefly.

"And I think if you _really_ wanted me thrown in prison, you could have done so during my second year when I stole from your supply cabinet to brew Polyjuice Potion."

"Miss Granger," he said very slowly, "rest assured that your prior legal entanglements are of no interest to me. Blackmail is a rather lazy form of retribution." He turned to the small window and stood with his back to her, wand resting in hands that were clasped firmly together behind his back.

She looked over at him, uncertain. "Just what is it you want from me, Professor?" And then she immediately lost her nerve and her gaze fell to her lap where she picked at an imaginary thread. "While I understood Potions well enough, I wouldn't consider myself gifted. And it's been years since I've done anything with the subject," she sighed and looked up warily. "I doubt there's a wizard in Britain that would know more than you."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Miss Granger," Severus said with obvious distaste, rounding on her. "Brown nosing your way into my good graces is incredibly foolish and what I had previously presumed to be beneath you."

At length she stared at him. And then, with an audible sigh, she massaged her temples with both index and middle fingers. "I'm just trying to figure out what you want with me is all." And then she opened her eyes, looking visibly exhausted. "I suppose I don't see your motive."

"My motive is nothing more than to demand your assistance in repairing something you previously destroyed," he snapped waspishly, sweeping quickly across the small room to tower before her. "Do not flatter yourself with the delusion that you were some pre-ordained chosen vessel I have been seeking out these many months."

Hermione blinked, hurt. It was, to Severus' recollection, the first time he had seen that look on her face since her fourth year, when he had made the unnecessary comment about her teeth. Strangely, looking into the devastation of her eyes, he felt chagrined at imposing such an expression on her soft features. Had she not just revealed to him her parents were dead? She had no magical siblings, he was certain -- none that he had taught, anyway. He supposed it was possible she had other non-magical family - sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles.

But it was also possible that she was as entirely alone as he was.

"Miss Granger, I -- that is to say -- "

"Don't trouble yourself, professor," Hermione cut in rather curtly, her voice oddly strangled, "You don't need to coddle me."

He stared down at her, at the unrecognizable broken woman before him. At length he said tightly, "My earlier comment was...unnecessarily harsh. I -- it should not have been said."

She blinked.

_Is that an apology? Merlin, perhaps the time in solitude has affected his sanity._

"Professor Snape -- Severus," she said, wrinkling her nose at the sound of his given name on her tongue. Somehow it felt like an unspeakable evil, speaking his name for the first time. "All I'm asking is that you be honest with me. If you tell me the truth -- why I'm _really_ here, I promise I will do all that's in my power to help you."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose where a rather powerful headache was gathering. "I need a runner," he said simply, opening his eyes on her once more. "There are several ingredients that I require that would be difficult to procure given the fact that I'm presumed..."

"Dead?" she finished for him, brushing off her robes and standing.

_Of course he wouldn't need me to brew the potion. He needs someone to do the dirty work, to gather ingredients since he's, well...dead._

He inclined his chin. "Quite."

"So you need someone," she went on for him, walking the perimeter of the small room, flinching slightly as one of the floorboards creaked under her weight, "to go to the apothecary and purchase ingredients. Someone to do the footwork."

His dark gaze followed her retreating form, oddly mesmerized by the flow of her emerald robe in relation to her figure. "As I have said."

Pausing in front of one of his ingredient shelves, she turned and smirked slightly -- a rather unflattering expression, Severus thought. "Polyjuice Potion difficult to come by?"

He raised one eyebrow. "As you might well except."

She nodded in agreement, slowly making her way back to where he stood, perfectly still and unmovable. "I accept your offer."

Strangely, something inside Severus unclenched and he relaxed a bit.

"Do you wonder, though," Hermione asked, looking up at him with bright, inquisitive eyes, "that someone what ask what _I'm_ doing purchasing those ingredients? I'm no potion's mistress."

He shrugged. "I do not see why any witch or wizard would take particular notice of your shopping habits," he rubbed his chin pensively, "though if they did, it could easily be an errand for Horace."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And if Horace asks?"

Severus scowled, "Do not ask me to solve your every problem, woman. Think! You've a decent brain in your head -- or have at least purported as such; tell him you're instigating an experiment. Anything! I'm sure your ever creative abilities will not limit you in this endeavor."

Hermione frowned. "There's no need to get nasty, _professor_. I was merely asking your advise." And she quickly made her way over to the sofa, gathering the satchel she had deposited there when she first entered the room. "I can show myself out."

It only took him three steps to catch her. He reached out and grabbed her elbow between thumb and index finger. It wasn't enough of a grip to do anything if she truly wanted to fight him off, but enough of one where he could be sure she knew he did not wish her to move any further.

"What?" she snapped, irritably, rounding to face him, though he did not release his hold on her elbow. "If I wanted to subject myself to an emotional roller coaster of a conversation, I need only speak with Harry. I'd rather not have to endure it with you, as well."

His lips quirked. "For once, Miss Granger -- Hermione," he corrected, conceding to her former wishes, "we agree on something."

"Oh?" she raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, though somewhat skeptical.

_Why on earth would he agree with me on _anything?

He smirked. "Potter."

She looked up at him, at those fascinating, fathomless eyes. The years hadn't been particularly kind to Severus Snape. The crease on his brow appeared to now be a crater of sorts, and there were several fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His hair, though, was still impossibly black and hung thickly in his face. His thin lips were still in the tight line she recalled so well -- an expression of obvious displeasure.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat and dropping her gaze when she could no longer bear the scrutiny of his eyes, "I suppose there's a first for everything."

He did not remove his gaze from her. "Indeed."

She shifted uncomfortably, until he at last released her elbow. "Do you already have a list of ingredients, then? I had planned a trip to Hogsmede this weekend, on the Headmistress's errand."

"Ah," he tutted, "so it appears you are already someone's errand girl. I did not think Minerva would resort to laziness in her twilight years."

Hermione rounded on him. "Lazy?" she snapped, "She's been beside herself with finding a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in that the term starts in less than _four weeks_," she emphasized, taking a step back from him. "I offered to help since I certainly have the time during the summer."

Severus sneered. "How very noble of you."

She scowled, folding her arms. Oh, he was impossible. Was it really that difficult to believe that she was helping another human being simply because she _wanted _to?

"So," Severus drawled, adjusting the white cuffs on his sleeves, "our dear friend Umbridge decided she did not wish to return to Hogwarts to teach the subject?"

Hermione snorted, "No, and thank God for it. Minerva has more sense than that. Umbridge was a foul, cruel woman," she said in a passion, furrowing her brow viciously as she did so. "Minerva wouldn't let her near the school. And besides, Umbridge is still with the Ministry," she worked on her lower lip as if in deep thought, "and she _hated _children."

Severus drew his wand and conjured a whiskey glass, filling it slowly. At length he brought the small cup to his lips. "Minerva has yet to find a suitable replacement for the post?"

Hermione shook her head, sighing, "No. There's simply no one qualified for the position. Each professor that has taught the subject since...well, since _you_ were there hasn't lasted more than a year. It's still widely rumored the position is cursed."

"Ridiculous," Severus puffed.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Quite ridiculous. Though it doesn't do much for recruiting. People will believe what they want to believe, whether it's true or not."

"Well spoken, Miss Gra -- Hermione," said Severus, whisking away his now empty glass.

Hermione looked to her feet, once again uncomfortable.

_Grow up, Hermione. What are you afraid of? That the man is doing to dock house points?_

She cleared her throat. "Er, so do you already have a list, then? Or shall I return?"

He stared down at her. "If you feel you are capable to wait here while I write down the first of what we will require without _touching_ anything, I will be but a moment."

She lifted one eyebrow. _Does he think I'm five?_

She decided, for the time being at least, on the less confrontational response. "I'm fine to wait, thank you."

He nodded once, brushing past her. Hermione felt the air on her face as his robes whipped by. A moment later he disappeared through the entryway and she found herself quite alone.

The room was impeccably clean. The would-be cluttered shelves appeared to be organized alphabetically and by -- _color_? Hermione took a step closer to the nearest shelf and squinted as she read the tiny labels. It was, she noted irrelevantly, the same way she would have organized her own shelves of ingredients had she had any. His desk looked much like his old cedar back at Hogwarts, quill and inkwell neatly placed on the left hand side for easy access. She blushed faintly, acutely aware it was an odd thing to know that Professor Snape was left handed.

_You're merely observant, is all. Nothing embarrassing about that._

Opposite the shelves was a comfortable hearth but with the fairly warm summer evenings they were currently enjoying, it was dark and empty for the moment. She made her way over to the second shelf, brown eyes scanning a large collection of books. Many she had read (or at least heard of), though there were several she was quite confident wouldn't even be allowed in the restricted section of the library at Hogwarts. As curiosity overtook her initial fear of the titles -- _Secrets of the Darkest Arts, The Art of the Unforgivable, Blood Potions: The Power of Human Life, _and _101 Lesser Known Hexes and How to Use Them -- _ she leaned forward, nearly brushing her fingertips across the closet spine...

"I was not aware I was being ambiguous when I requested you not touch anything," Severus said testily from behind her. She jerked without thinking about it, withdrawing her fingers as though they had been burned.

She did her best to straighten her back and looked up at him anxiously. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean any harm, I was just - "

"You were deliberately disobeying instructions," Severus interrupted in murderous tones. "As was the case when you were a student, if I recall correctly."

Hermione swallowed, her eyes wide.

"Do not make the mistake of ignoring me, _Miss Granger_ - yes," he added irritably, when she furrowed her brow at him, "I will refer to you as a _student_ until you prove you are capable of following simple instructions like a competent adult."

Hermione blushed, chagrined. "I'm sorry. I really am. It's just that there are several of those books I've never even _heard_ of before. They looked," she frowned, working on her lower lip, "...interesting."

Severus sighed deeply, mentally cursing any celestial force that might be looking down upon him. "Miss Granger," he began again, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as his last ounce of patience was exhausted. "Do not think me anal or merely _possessive_," he sneered sardonically, "of my things. There is good reason you haven't heard of many of those texts. There are certain ones, that, if touched by a witch or wizard of muggle parentage will cause painful physical damage to said person." Hermione's eyes widened dramatically and Severus smirked. "Some are capable of causing permanent damage."

"Oh," Hermione said stupidly. "I didn't know."

"Obviously."

"I won't go near them again."

Severus quirked his lips unpleasantly. "Hope springs eternal."

She looked to her boots after a few awkward moments of silence, feeling his dark eyes on her face.

"When you're quite done observing the quality of your boots," he said smoothly, taking a step toward her, "this is the list you will need at the apothecary."

Hermione looked up quickly, dutifully taking the list from his proffered hand. And then he reached into his voluminous robes and procured a small, leather bag. "This should cover the expenses," he said evenly.

She eyed the little bad curiously, wondering how he had the funds to purchase what were likely very expensive ingredients. But she merely nodded her head and said quietly, "Okay."

He appeared slightly relieved that she hadn't pressed him further and nodded once. "You will return this Friday with the ingredients so we can begin." It wasn't a question.

Again she nodded. "Alright."

Severus raised his eyebrow. _Was she always this submissive? _

When the silence became unbearable, Hermione cleared her throat. "I'll just show myself out, then."

It was quiet behind her as she made her way through the little entryway. Eventually, as she neared the front door, she heard his smooth footsteps behind her. But it wasn't until she was down the front porch and adjusting her satchel over her shoulder that he called out to her.

"Miss Granger," he called rather stiffly.

She turned with raised eyebrows, extricating her wand from her robes for the journey back to Hogwarts.

"I have no desire for my funds to go to waste."

"Professor?" she asked, confused, and then mentally slapped her forehead.

_Damn. Except he's no longer my professor._

He made an irritated sort of noise, gesturing to her satchel with a pale hand. "My funds, Miss Granger. Are you incapable of understanding the language you have spoken for the last twenty-some-odd years?" he scowled. "I merely wished to extend the caution to not try anything _Gryffindor_ in Knockturn Alley. If your body was found stashed in the back of the alley I highly doubt, given the fact I have a death certificate, that I would be reimbursed for my trouble."

Hermione stared at him a long moment. It was harsh, yes, as it was certainly meant to be. But there was something else there. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. _Concern? No, surely not that. _She couldn't pin it -- with the million or so thoughts racing around her head with all that had transpired between them. So instead of feigning hurt, she gave him a small smile over her shoulder and then made her way up the little path.

"Don't worry, Severus. I'll be careful."

Behind her, Severus Snape scowled.

* * *

_Again, I apologize profusely at my delay in updating. My life has been completely hectic since Christmas. (Which, I hope everyone had a lovely holiday!) This was another tricky chapter to write - to get the characterizations down so I felt that I was (hopefully) doing JKR's writing justice. I endeavor to be better at updating. I make the promise that I will never abandon any fic, so please be patient with my updating! I appreciate all the thoughts and feedback. You're all wonderful._


	5. Chapter 5

_"The past is our definition. We may strive, with good reason, to escape it, or to escape what is bad in it, but we will escape it only by adding something better to it."_

- Wendell Berry

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

Diagon Alley was brimming with people.

Hermione had felt rather useless and half-present all week. Her mind's eye kept playing back to Severus, at his silent fury with her for almost touching his books -- which, apparently would have caused her some sort of harm, and his parting warning to not end up dead.

_And they say romance is dead._

_Wait. Romance? You're off your rocker, Hermione._

Inwardly, she cursed herself for making the journey on a late Friday afternoon. But she maneuvered through the busy street with more skill than she would have given herself credit for, dodging and weaving around countless witches and wizards like a seasoned Quidditch player_. _Casually, she pulled her hood over her head, surreptitiously glancing in either direction to see if the action had gone unnoticed. Despite the thick clouds that hung low in the air, it was a warm evening and the hood was rather uncomfortable, though she scarcely cared. Hermione hated her celebrity status about as much as she hated Divination, and she wasn't particularly relishing in the thought of being stopped by any star-stunned witches and wizards while she was running two important errands.

"Hermione Granger?"

Hermione stopped immediately in her tracks, repressing a groan. She rolled her eyes, turning slowly -- as though somehow her hesitance would prolong the inevitable and keep the retched woman at bay -- and then forced a plastered smile on her face.

"Rita," she said dryly after a moment's silence, "fancy seeing you here."

"Oh, I'm everywhere," Rita Skeeter said dismissively, elbowing her way through the busy street to stand in front of Hermione. Her Quick-Quotes Quill, Hermione noticed under narrowed eyes, hovered around her like a small dagger. "The _Prophet's_ only down the street, you know." She smiled widely, flashing one of her golden teeth before she gestured pointedly around their busy surroundings. "Doing some shopping in the Alley before term, I see."

Hermione eyed the Quick-Quotes Quill suspiciously and then chuckled once, "Am I that obvious, now?"

_Careful, Hermione. She's trying to bait you for some asinine story. Stay calm.  
_

Rita smiled thinly. The Quick-Quotes Quill, however, was scratching furiously on a nearby floating parchment. "Looking for anything in particular?"

"No," Hermione answered quickly, and then added before she could help herself, "Journalism has a rather long tradition of _selective_ self-restraint, for matters genuinely unfit for the print. I wonder, Rita," she quirked her eyebrow, "what your editor, Barnabas Cuffe, would think of you writing something as trivial as my presence in Diagon Alley? It's hardly gossip, isn't it? Especially after your previous _legal_ entanglements -- an unregistered ani-"

"Cuffe cares about copies sold," said Rita, interrupting her with a too-sweet voice from behind a frightful pair of studded horn-rimmed glasses. The Quick-Quotes Quill was writing so furiously now, Hermione wondered if the feathers would fall off in the madness of it all. "The byline is irrelevant, as is my incident with the Ministry."

Hermione snorted ungraciously, "Yes, of course, Rita." And she pulled her satchel across her chest in one graceful motion. "As _always,_ it's been a pleasure. I quite enjoy the _Prophet's _edition of _Fiendishly Difficult Crosswords,_" she smiled sweetly. "But I should really be off. Good day."

Rita let Hermione get three steps in before she called out knowingly over the steady hum of the crowd, "The three year anniversary will be tomorrow, won't it?" And she let the triumph in her voice hang in the air like a readied guillotine, poised and threatening. The massive silence that seemed to follow on the crammed street was tantamount. Hermione's knees nearly buckled, such as it was, under the weight of what was being implied. "Do you have any plans on how you'll spend the day?"

Hermione turned to face Rita and her breath caught a little, so shocked as she was by the intimacy of the question. For a moment, the crowd moved at a slower pace, the sights and sounds of Diagon Alley resolved into a muffled background noise as her blood pounded hard in her ears, and her heart thumped slowly against her chest. Hermione shook her head, and held Rita's eyes.

"How _dare _you," she whispered, choking over the lump in her throat. And before she even realized what she was doing -- what she was planning to do -- she had closed the distance between them and struck Rita a dazzling blow across the cheek, causing the older woman to stagger backwards in shock.

Rita looked up, completely enraged, her white hand clutching a now brilliant red cheek, glasses slightly askew. "Why you ungracious little _mud_ - "

But with a deft flick of her wand, Hermione wordlessly silenced her. The crowd around them paused briefly, gazing with curious eyes to see what the altercation was about. Numbly, Hermione cinched her hood tighter around her face and she stared ahead with hard eyes. After some time -- Hermione couldn't be sure how long exactly -- , Rita's frantically moving mouth came hazily into view, though there was no sound to accompany the rapid little movements. Her entire face was as red as the spot Hermione had slapped, such was her vigor.

Hermione's heart clenched painfully for a few agonizing beats. But with a shaky breath, as one hot tear gathered in the corner of her eye, she willed herself to remain calm and raised her wand to release the silencing spell.

"There's nothing to see here," she said with a tight undercurrent in her already shaking voice, when the small crowd continued to linger. "Back to your business."

Rita, however, looked murderous.

"You _ungrateful,_ spoiled child!" she shrieked, fishing for her own wand within her elaborate robes. Hermione smiled grimly, forcing herself to walk away from the horrid woman, though each step felt like a slow march to the gallows. She doubted Rita would truly challenge her to a duel -- doubted more that the witch would curse her while her back was turned. And so as her heart constricted and unclenched with an almost unbearable stab of pain, she forced herself to make her way further down the alley, threading her way through the moving crowd toward the Apothecary.

"You'll pay for that, Hermione Granger!" Rita called out shrilly after her, "Mark my words, you'll wish you had never met me!"

Beneath the shadow of her hooded cloak, Hermione whispered, "I always have."

000

Hermione's feet moved on their own accord, making their way sluggishly to the dark, twisted turn that was Knockturn Alley. She paused briefly, leaning against the wet brick of a dark building and batted at her damp eyes with the sleeve of her robe.

_Horrid, retched, awful woman! _She took a deep breath, stifling a sob and leaning her head back against the brick wall. She rubbed her eyes methodically. _What a lowly creature -- to prey off the pain and misfortune of others and to -- of all things -- exploit it! _Pulling her cloak more tightly around her neck, Hermione thought viciously, _I should have listened to Ron and squashed her when I had the chance. Damn Gryffindor nobility._

And then she was irritated with herself for losing control. _What was I thinking? Striking Rita Skeeter? _It was something Ron or Harry would have done -- both so easily able to get caught up in the moment. Hermione was generally the one pulling them back, shouting what sense she could at them, literally yanking on their robes to pull them away. She sighed. Feeling half-idiotic, she knew the consequences wouldn't be pretty. Likely, there would be a front page story on tomorrow's _Prophet_ questioning the sanity of one Hermione Granger, post-war victim. Truthfully, she'd consider herself lucky if Rita chose _not_ to contact the Magical Law Enforcement offices.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she did her best to compose herself, anxiously smoothing out her robes. And then, when her breath hitched briefly as the image of her parents swam in front of her, she straightened her back and turned the corner.

000

Knockturn Alley was just as unpleasant as she remembered.

Shady street vendors' carts cast dingy shadows, the post-rainfall dripped from rain gutters above causing a damp, rather nasty scent that permeated the entire alleyway. A few unclassifiable rodents scurried quickly along the slummy brick-lined walls. She quickly passed Borgin and Burkes, ignoring the sale on hangman's rope and poisonous candlesticks in the display window.

_What in Merlin's name were they thinking when they placed the Apothecary here?_

"You," a strangled voice called from one of the vendor's cart, and a black cloaked figure appeared from around the wooden side-panels, "I've a sale. Human fingernails. No better price in Britain."

Hermione subconsciously clutched her wand, whitening her knuckles as she did so. "No, thank you, sir. I'm not in the market."

He coughed, sickly, and Hermione made out a long nose with several warts adorning the end. "Not in the market, you say? What do you need, then? Skulls? Blood-stained playing cards? Everything is half off today for a -- " but he appeared to have just seen Hermione for the first time since he spoke to her; his pale eyes trailed sickly over her body. "Oh, for you, love...I could make another arrangement. No money, just a quick -- "

"I really must be on my way," she said hurriedly, feeling a rising sense of panic as her heart fluttered wildly against her chest. She quickly brushed past the perverse man, hand gripping her wand for her life, and then barreled into the Apothecary.

The broken bell chimed, though pathetically strangled, the moment she rushed through and swiftly closed the door behind her.

Immediately, Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. The familiar, albeit unpleasant, scent of bad eggs and rotten cabbage was momentarily overwhelming. Taking a few quick breaths into her sleeve, she shook her head and made her way into the shop. Barrels of some sort of slimy substance lined the west wall, nearly brimming over the wooden edges. Hermione side stepped the shelves full of powders, herbs, and the like. She had to duck once to avoid hitting a bundle of fangs that hanged precariously from the ceiling.

"Excuse me," she cleared her throat, looking around the dimly lit shop, "is there anyone here?"

The floorboards creaked, and an ailing sixty-something witch came from around a rather tall shelf, stooped over with white, wild hair hanging in her eyes.

"What is it?" she snapped. "We're closed."

"Oh," Hermione said dumbly, "I didn't know the store hours, ma'am. If there's anyway... that is, if you would be so kind to help me since I'm already here, I'd be very much obliged of your assistance."

"Get out," she snarled. "You think saying you'd be _obliged _means a pixie's ass to me?" Paunchy and withered thing that she was, her answering rage had given her a strange intensity, and as she limped forward, Hermione was completely taken aback.

"No," she shook her head, again clutching at her wand, "No, ma'am, I don't. I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you. I'll return in the morning."

The witch stared back beneath hooded eyes, scrutinizing her every move. Hermione swallowed and worked on her lower lip. _Perhaps,_ she ventured, as a sudden thought crossed her mind_, _though she felt certain she was treading on ethically shaky ground,_ perhaps just this one time I could..._

She shook her head and cleared her throat. "Madam, I'm not sure if you recognize me. My name is Hermione Granger and I - "

"I know very well who you are," the witch said darkly, eyes narrowing with annoyance.

"Oh."

Silence; a small scurrying noise sounded toward the back corner of the shop. Outside, Hermione heard the rain beginning to fall.

_What am I supposed to tell Severus?_

_He said he needed the ingredients tonight -- oh, Merlin. I'm about to destroy another one of his potions._

_There's no force in heaven or earth that will stop him of thinking me completely incompetent now._

She sighed deeply, deciding it best to not prolong the inevitable rage, and in Hermione's opinion, far worse disappointment of Severus Snape, and turned slowly to head out the entrance.

"Wait."

Hermione turned and looked back at the stocky woman, at her stained and faded robes, and wondered how she had come to work in such a dingy little place.

"Yes?"

As they stared silently at one another, the old woman's gaze combed over Hermione's robes and then she looked up again while her eyes widened a bit, startled.

Hermione looked over her shoulder, wondering if the witch had seen something behind her.

"What is it?"

The pale eyes narrowed and a gross ragged laugh escaped the woman's cracked lips. "Well, I'll be," she muttered, half to herself. "You've seen him, then."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Seen who?"

"Oh, don't play stupid with me," she coughed, and there was an odd note of contrition in her voice. "Though," she added pensively, scratching at something behind a large earlobe, "I'd never thought it would have been a Gryffindor."

Hermione looked down at her sharply, her brown eyes startled. "I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I really don't have the slightest clue as to what you're talking about."

The ragged woman turned to look up at her properly. "Of course you do," she said flippantly, and then reached a wrinkled arm out, palm up. "Let's have it, then."

"Have what?"

"Good God!" she cried, putting her fisted hands on her paunchy waist. "It was always said that you had _some_ shred of intelligence. Use what sense you have in that head of yours, if you please."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps if you stopped speaking in riddles - "

"Severus Snape."

Hermione nearly choked on her tongue. She stared at the old witch.

"W-what?"

"You heard me," she cackled, a triumphant, toothy grin on her weathered face. And then she reached into her singed, faded robes and procured a rather short wand.

Hermione drew hers quickly, instantly on the defense.

"What are you playing at?"

The woman cackled again, brushing past Hermione as she flicked her wand at the entrance, silently locking the door. "Don't want any unwanted visitors," she said by way of explanation. And then she turned sharply toward Hermione. "The _list_, girl. Hand me his list. It's why you're here, is it not?"

Hermione took a deep breath a swallowed. _What, you think you're the only one he trusts his secret with, Granger? Which part of this, exactly, is surprising?_

Slowly, Hermione wetted her lower lip. "How did you know," she asked softly, shaking her head. "You turned me away. You weren't going to help me. But then it was as if you recognized -- w-what, what are you doing?"

The witch cut her off with a knobby finger, raising it dramatically to her lips to silence her. Skillfully, she flicked her wand once more at their stuffy surroundings and then gave a satisfied nod.

"Silencing charm," she said levelly. "I don't care if You-Know-Who _is_ dead, there are others out there that wouldn't think twice about killing either one of us for this sort of information. Knockturn Alley is a bit dodgy."

Hermione lowered her wand warily and brushed her bangs out of her face. "The information that Severus Snape is alive?"

The old woman nodded emphatically.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What's your name?"

She looked up at Hermione for a moment, pale eyes slightly skeptical. "Sophie," she said at length. "Sophie Morton."

"And how did you know that Prof - er, that Severus Snape was alive?"

She shrugged. "How do you think? He came to me."

_Obviously._

"I mean, what's your connection to him?" she clarified. "To trust you with -- "

"The better question to ask here," Sophie interrupted, tilting her head to the side, "is what _your_ connection is to Severus. He always hated Gryffindors, you know."

_Really? That must have escaped my attention during the six years of school he docked my house points for no reason at all._

"Well, I don't necessarily think he _planned_ on revealing himself to me," Hermione admitted reluctantly, looking to the gray slate floor. She thought back on the night he had saved her, how she had woken in his little cottage and accused him of being an impostor. "I sort of...fell."

Sophie held up her withered hand to stop Hermione from going any further. "Typical Severus," she muttered under her breath. And then she turned her full attention to Hermione. "I always told him his heart would be his undoing. Too bloody soft, he is."

Hermione's brow shot into her hairline. Then she gave the older woman a sidelong glance. _Severus Snape? Too soft?_

"Er, well, how did you know that I had been in contact with him? That I have a list of ingredients?"

Sophie laughed grimly. "You're as easy to read as a book, Granger," she scoffed, and then took a step forward, reaching her knobby fingers out to Hermione's traveling cloak. "And you have the leaves from a Red-Horse Chestnut stuck to your robes," she smirked, pulling off a dried leave and holding it up for further observation. "Native to Avondale."

Hermione opened her mouth just as Sophie winked conspiratorial, "Not to mention, I'm one hell of a Legilimens."

Hermione took a breath and regarded the offending leaf under narrowed eyes. Hadn't she cleaned her cloak since she left Avondale? Enough mystery and heaviness. She swallowed hard and looked down at Sophie. "Please, Sophie. How do I know you're not some Death Eater in disguise just waiting to out him? _Please._ Will you tell me your connection to Severus?"

Sophie scowled, flicking the dried leaf to the ground. "There's not much to tell," she said blandly. "I knew his mother."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Eileen?"

Sophie rounded on her. "Just what in the _hell_ is it that Severus has been telling you?"

Dimly surprised by the reaction, Hermione explained in a rush, "Well, during my sixth year at Hogwarts, I did a little research...," she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm sure you've heard of the incident with Harry Potter and his potion's text. I suppose it's all in _Hogwarts: A History_ now. The text was signed by - "

"By the Half-Blood Prince, yes," Sophie said dismissively, waving her hand for Hermione to continue, "Obviously it was Severus."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, slightly on nerve, "though I didn't know it at the time. My research led me to the Hogwarts Archives, and I discovered a student who attended the school by the name of Eileen Prince, who was -- "

"Severus' mother," Sophie cut in.

"Right." Hermione swallowed, subconsciously rolling her wand in her sweaty palm. "Well, that's how I knew she was his mother."

Sophie frowned and scratched her chin pensively. Hermione's eye was drawn to one rather long, black hair that jutted out quite noticeably. "That's reasonable. I was worried for a moment that Severus had gone and confessed all his secrets to some," she waved her hand, searching for the right word, "..._Gryffindor_. That he'd gone and lost his mind."

Hermione ignored the jab. _Secrets? _What secrets did Severus have that Sophie knew? How he survived the war? How he miraculously saved himself from Nagini's bite? The mystery of his past with Lily Potter?

Hermione shook her head, trying to corral her sluggish thoughts into some semblance of order. At length, she decided on the most pressing question. "Sophie, while this is all very interesting, you still haven't given me anything that gives me reason to trust you," she said seriously. "I need something tangible. Something I can put my finger on."

Sophie's white brow furrowed. She crossed her arms across her chest. "And what makes you so protective of him?"

"I'm not -- "

"Don't lie, Granger."

Irritated at the interruption, Hermione said simply, "I gave him my word."

"Of course," Sophie scoffed. "Bloody noble Gryffindors and their _word_."

"I take it you were a _Slytherin_," Hermione said in ungracious tones. "As bigotry seems to be a continuing house trait."

It wasn't especially clever, but Sophie blinked. Then she turned and made her way to a rather large cabinet in the back corner of the shop. She returned, muttering obscenities under her breath, with a little phial, partially filled with a clear substance that looked very much like water.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, pointing with her index finger at the small object.

Sophie uncorked the lid and threw her head back as she downed the contents. "Veritaserum," she said simply, smacking her lips together.

Hermione's heart kicked up into her chest. "The Ministry has extremely strict guidelines on -- "

"I'm very well aware of what the Ministry does and does not approve of," Sophie said in slightly bored tones. "And I don't really give a rat's ass either way. Now, are you going to ask your questions so we can get bloody well on with this and get Severus the ingredients he requested?"

Hermione blinked. That stoke of genius hadn't occurred to her. She stared ahead, mildly startled. Startled not just by the witch's candor but by the lengths she was going through to get Severus what he needed. _She's protecting him every bit as much as I am. _

Hermione reached out and brought the discarded phial to her noise, searching for any odor.

"Oh, it's Veritaserum, I assure you," Sophie said, annoyed.

Hermione nodded in agreement when she couldn't detect any scent, setting the phial down. Brushing her bangs away from her forehead, she loosened her grip on her wand. "When did you last see Prof - er, Severus?"

"It's been a few months, now. I'd say at the end of spring."

"And you're a friend to him?"

"Yes."

"You wouldn't use your knowledge of his existence to compromise his safety in anyway?"

"No."

Hermione leaned back against a display table, scooting a heavy jar of dragon scales over as she did so. That was all it really boiled down to. Whether or not Sophie could be trusted with Severus' secret; whether or not she was some traitor that would go public with the information -- or worse, Hermione shuddered, take it to the known Death Eaters that were still on the run.

The ones that likely wanted his head on a silver platter.

"Thank you," Hermione said finally, looking at the older woman with real sincerity. She shook her head as she chuckled ruefully, "Imagine my surprise when you said his name -- Severus' name -- the only thing I could think of was that you were trying to expose him in some way, wanting to use the information as blackmail." She shrugged helplessly. "I don't need to ask you anything more."

Oh, she wanted to ask more. _Longed_ to, in fact. The very real possibility that Sophie knew infinitely more about Severus' past than, well, _anyone,_ was beyond enticing. But Hermione didn't like the precedent. Would she be any better than Rita Skeeter if she started sticking her nose where it didn't belong? Dredging up things that perhaps weren't meant to resurface? And even more than that, would she be able to take on that responsibility to know the secrets of Severus' past? His _heart? _If Sophie had been telling the truth and she _was_ a Legilimens and Hermione truly was that easy to read, she could unwillingly compromise Severus' position and in turn, put his life in danger.

No. She would not bear that burden.

Not without his consent, at least.

"I'm impressed," Sophie said at length, scratching her chin again, "I'd heard you were insufferable. That all you did was ask questions."

"Gee, thanks."

Sophie waved her hand dismissively. "It's neither here nor there. Now," she looked serious again, "do you have Severus' list?"

Hermione reached for her satchel, deftly undoing the buttons. "Do you know what he's working on?"

"No," Sophie said, clearly annoyed. "He wouldn't say. Only that it was of great importance to him."

_He didn't tell her? And he told...me?_

Hermione was mildly startled by that fact.

She found the parchment easily, handing it over to Sophie's eager hands. Quickly, she scanned the list, walking towards her shelves as she did so, ready to procure each item from her little empire.

"Will you have everything on the list?" Hermione called out, momentarily distracted by a jar that housed two scarab beetles, both of which appeared to be eying her conspicuously.

Hermione heard Sophie rummaging through something in a back room. A moment later she emerged with a triumphant smile on her wrinkled face. "Yes," she said, wiping her brow. "Hand me your bag and I'll store it all properly."

Hermione loosened the strap from her shoulder without question, handing it over to the older witch. And as Sophie set about to gather everything on the list, Hermione found herself lost in her thoughts again.

Thinking back on her earlier encounter with Rita, she felt sick. _What will the headmistress say, when it's plastered over the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ that one of Hogwarts' professors is violent? Abusive, even? _She felt ashamed at her loss of control -- though, admittedly, at the time, it felt rather good. Great, even. She could only recall one other incident where she lost control like that, and that was back in her third year where she had slapped Draco Malfoy.

Without meaning to, a smile came to her lips at the memory.

Ron and Harry's expressions had been priceless.

_Malfoy._ That named had dogged her since Voldemort had been killed. No one had seen or heard of Draco Malfoy since the pieces settled after the war. For all intents and purposes, he was as dead as Severus had been. A shadow. A ghost. The _Prophet_ had countless articles speculating on what had become of the young Malfoy; had he joined ranks with the missing Death Eaters? Had they killed him for his cowardice? There had been several witches and wizards that had _claimed_ to have seen Draco. It got them a quick galleon and five seconds in the spotlight, which was, likely, their goal all along. The claims, unsurprisingly, always led to a dead end, completely unsubstantiated. The _Prophet_, at least, had picked up on those fairly quickly.

Regardless of whatever fate had befallen Malfoy, the copies sold.

But it was as though he had completely disappeared.

Malfoy Manor had been abandoned. There was wide speculation that the place was haunted. Any place that had housed Voldemort for such a long period of time retained the obvious adjective of 'creepy'. And that was putting it mildly. Hermione didn't really care either way. Far more frightening to her than Voldemort in that house were images of a deranged Beletrix LeStrange.

"Granger," Sophie called, coming from around a back aisle with a now bulging satchel, "everything's in here." Her voice sounded quite pleased with herself. She heaved the bag onto a vacant display table and patted it gently. "Watch yourself with this. I've placed a charm on the contents so they shouldn't spill when you Apparate, but don't push your luck by running around idiotically."

Hermione couldn't help but smile. "I'll try not to."

Sophie nodded. "See to it, then."

Hermione pulled the strap of the satchel over her shoulder and then stood, heaving the bag into place. Already she felt the strain on her shoulder from the weight of the contents. Quickly, she reached into her right robe pocket and procured a small bag.

"Severus said this should cover the cost," Hermione said evenly, reaching out to hand Sophie the bag. "I haven't looked to see how much is there. I thought it would be rather impolite to -- "

But Sophie backed away as though the little bag might attack her. With hands up in front of her in protest, she said firmly, "You tell Severus he insults me by having you bring this. I won't take a sickle of it."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "But Sophie," she protested, "I saw the list, I'm sure it's rather expensive -- "

"And I can still manage quite well," she cut in, holding her harried chin high. "You take that money right back to Severus. _Merlin_ knows how he has it in the first place. I'm sure it can serve him well in some other capacity." And then she muttered quietly under her breath, "Bloody, noble fool."

Hermione stood completely still for a moment, wondering if it would be rude to continue to press the witch or to just let matters lie. Sighing, she decided on the later.

"I'll tell him."

And she put the little bag back into her pocket. Sophie nodded once, clearly pleased. At length she cleared her throat, which was quite full of phlegm, and removed a folded parchment from her breast pocket. "Er, if you would...that is, I would be...," she scratched the back of her thinning hair and muttered softly, "Could you deliver this to Severus for me?"

Hermione was surprised by her hesitance. "Of course," she said at once.

"It's private," Sophie warned, "if you attempt to read it, it _will _burn your hands."

"I would _never_," Hermione stopped, shocked that the older woman would think she would commit such a violation. And then she realized, with a small amount of trepidation, she would have done the same thing had the situation been reversed.

"I'll see to it he receives it," she said instead. "I won't look at it."

Sophie nodded, handing her the weathered parchment.

"No, I suppose you won't."

"Thank you for your help today," Hermione said quietly, carefully tucking the letter into her robes.

Sophie was silent for a moment. After a deep sigh, she said with some reluctance, "Any friend of Severus' is a friend of mine -- Gryffindors included, I suppose." And then she grew solemn. "I suppose I don't need to say this, but I'm going to anyway," she rubbed her chin. "This knowledge of Severus...needs to stay close. Safe. While I don't think you'd..._intentionally_ betray him, any witch or wizard with the most basic training in Legilimency could see right through you if they knew what they were looking for."

Hermione had thought about that. That her knowledge of Severus might inadvertently lead to his undoing.

"Perhaps," Sophie quirked her white, bushy eyebrow, "Perhaps, he'd be willing to give you lessons in Occlumency."

Hermione doubted it.

Severus' lessons with Harry had been abysmal to say the least, and she knew he had only agreed to it on Dumbledore's orders. It was possible, however, that because in a larger sense it regarded his secret, he might concede.

It was also entirely possible that if she brought it up, he would see the easier solution as simply obliterating her memory.

Aloud, Hermione said rather quietly, "I'll be sure to ask him."

And with that, she adjusted the heavy strap on her shoulder and exited the shop.

000

Hermione welcomed the cool raindrops after being in the stuffy, rather smelly Apothecary. Welcomed them, at least, until she realized she was back in the slums of Knockturn Alley. Without taking the time to cast a drying charm, she hurried through the narrow space, head down, intent on moving as quickly as she was able with her heavy satchel to get back to the crowded streets of Diagon Alley.

With the rain pattering loudly around her, she ducked around a low overhang. Pulling her hood as far forward as she could to shield the rain, she started walking again, looking at her feet to avoid the stinging rain in her eyes.

And then a hand grabbed her shoulder without warning.

Disoriented, unable to see much of anything in the pouring rain, Hermione instinctively reached for her wand. But a firm hand gripped her forearm tightly, pushing her back against a hard wall and thwarting any chance she had of reaching her wand.

"Let - me - go!" Hermione screamed, struggling violently against her attacker.

Her hood fell back in the struggle, and through the blinding rain she saw the same man that accosted her before she ran into the Apothecary. Her breath hitched the moment she recognized the grotesque face, and she stilled herself momentarily, wondering how the hell she had gotten herself into this mess.

_Stupid, stupid Hermione! _

He, for his part, merely stared at her sickeningly, dark eyes taking in the spreading wetness across her shoulders, her hair that had begun to cling together, and robes that were now hugging her form so fiercely that it left nothing to even _his _imagination.

Though her heart was pounding frantically and her hands shook with fear, she narrowed her eyes and spat, "Get the hell off me!"

But he merely smiled grossly and brought his head down to her neck, working his mouth over the wet, pale skin.

She gasped in shock, but threw her weight into him, screaming as loud as her vocal cords would allow.

"HELP!"

He cursed loudly, and Hermione caught the scent of his sour breath. Before she could open her mouth to scream again, he reached up with his left arm and took a fistful of her wet hair, throwing her head back against the wall with such force, her vision momentarily blacked out.

"Shut _up_, damn you!" he cursed, reaching into his robes for his wand. Not a moment later, he flicked his wand, and Hermione realized with a sudden, sickening clarity, that though she was screaming, not even the faintest of whispers escaped her lips.

_Oh, God._

"Not everyday a witch like you comes here," he whispered, pawing at her chest like an animal. "So _young, _so...," he groaned, his free hand grabbing at her hip, "..._firm_."

With a deep breath and every last ounce of strength she possessed, Hermione heaved her knee hard into his groin, causing him to gasp and double over, momentarily releasing his grip as he clutched the offended area.

Without thinking, she pushed him off her and broke into a sprint for Diagon Alley. Her surroundings spun by without form, a chaos of movement, until she pelted around the last bend and nearly knocked over two adolescent wizards in the massive evening crowd.

"Oi! Watch it, you!" One of the wizards shouted at her.

"Bloody crazy!" The other one called cruelly.

But she couldn't have cared less about their admonitions. She felt nauseous and wanted nothing more than to make it to the Apparation point without incident. As she elbowed her way through the crowd, pushing and shoving her way to the top of the street, too afraid to look over her shoulder to see if the perverse man was behind her, she realized she was sobbing.

The moment she reached the Apparation point, she turned on the spot, and vanished.

000

Severus was out on the porch before Hermione could even ascend the stairs at Avondale.

"You're late," he said tersely.

A crack of lightening flashed brightly and lighted up the night sky. In that moment Severus must have taken in Hermione's too-big breaths, her drenched, stooping form, and distinguished the tear tracks on her red face even through the rain and surrounding perfect darkness. He was down the stairs before Hermione had time to blink, a steady hand on both of her shoulders, guiding her up the little pathway.

"What happened?" he demanded, though there was a tight undercurrent in his voice.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but, of course, no sound came out.

_Nothing much, really. I slapped Rita Skeeter, found out someone else knew you were alive, and oh! How did I forget? Let's see, I was accosted by a transient in Knockturn Alley. I think that about sums it up._

Severus ushered her into the main room, one hand resting lightly on the small of her back, the other gripping her wrist, moving her steadily forward. Without a word he circumvented around her trembling form, facing her properly. There was a brief glimmer in his gaze as his eyes swept over her for injuries. At length he said evenly, "I know you're perfectly capable of speaking, woman; I did not _cease_ to hear your voice for six years. Now, tell me. What has happened?"

Hermione looked up at him, at his shock of black hair and the dark eyes beneath it, and suddenly, _strangely_ -- for the first time since she left Diagon Alley, felt safe.

She reached for the soaking strap of the satchel, but Severus beat her to it; he lifted the bag easily off her shoulder and discarded it on the sofa, completely forgotten. And then he took an intimidating step forward, towering over her. "I do _not _intend to play guessing games with you, Hermione. Tell me this instant what hap -- "

But he cut himself off when Hermione reached for her pale throat with both hands, tapping the area repeatedly while slowly shaking her head back and forth.

He stared at her for a long moment, the comprehension of what she was attempting to say seeping in like the fog.

"A silencing charm?" he asked, when he could not bear to look at the devastation in her brown eyes any longer.

Slowly, she nodded.

He regarded her again, this time rather quickly. She was a mess; a truly unlovely sight. Her thick hair was matted and dripping onto her robes; her eyes, red and puffy from crying. Oddly, it was the sight of her trembling hands that disturbed him more than anything.

_What could have frightened her, so?_

Instead he said, with as much indifference as he was capable, "Sit."

She immediately obeyed, scooting to the corner of his sofa and twisting her fingers together anxiously. As he disappeared behind one of his shelves to search for the needed potion, he heard her foot tapping nervously against the wooden floorboards in a pattern he recognized as an early post-traumatic stress disorder criterion. He returned to her quickly, robes sweeping out behind him, until he stood before her and handed her a small phial.

She eyed it curiously, no doubt wondering what potion could counteract the effects of a silencing charm without the caster's original wand. But she took it and unstopped the cork, sipping the contents slowly.

"Hermione." He couldn't stand not knowing any longer. "What _happened_?"

She licked her lips. With an unsteady hand, she passed him the empty phial. "I..., well, I...," she swallowed, clutching at her throat subconsciously. Her voice sounded impossibly hoarse to her ears -- likely from too many harsh attempts of silent screaming.

Severus watched her pathetic struggle to speak with an increasing anxiousness. That anxiousness, he mused, was unwanted and misdirected, not to be felt for some broken, pathetic Gryffindor. But it _was_ there, much to his everlasting annoyance. Then he realized a few moments had passed, and suddenly she was sobbing aloud.

"Severus," she got out between gasps, "there was...a man. He tr-tried to...," she sniffed loudly, for a moment unable to go on.

Severus, for his part, did not notice he had knelt down in front of her. It took all his self control not to catch those small, wildly gesturing hands between his to steady them, if only for a moment.

"Tried to _what_?" He demanded harshly, his patience wearing. "What did he _do_?"

"He, he..." Hermione looked down at him, her brown eyes bright with tears. And then, almost as though she were remembering something, gingerly touched the back of her matted hair and winced. Bringing her shaking hand back down in front of her, Severus saw that it was red with blood.

"I think he tried to...to rape me," she whispered, and Severus had to strain to hear her, even with his already uncomfortable proximity.

Her words hit him like an unexpected punch in the stomach. Afraid he might literally vomit, he stood and turned away from her, closing his eyes and standing perfectly still. Very precisely, he rubbed the bridge of his noise, trying to ignore her pathetic whimpers behind him. And while his heart pounded with the absolute sickness of it, while his vision nearly swam with fury, his mind wove and threaded through the blueprints of Knockturn Alley, trying to ascertain what could have happened.

_Good God,_ he thought guiltily,_ This is my fault for sending her._

And then he felt sick all over again.

Behind him, Hermione suddenly seemed to have found her voice. "I was...coming out of the Apothecary," she stammered, wiping her eyes with her hand and smearing blood all over her face in the process, "...it was raining. I was hurrying -- I couldn't see anything. He just came out of nowhere and threw me against the wall...," she choked out, pausing as the tears momentarily overwhelmed her.

Severus turned slowly, his gaze returning to her. And as Hermione stared up at him, wiping the mucus and blood off her face, she saw a kaleidoscopic shift in his dark eyes, and something stirred in their depths.

"Hermione," he said softly. And then he crossed the short distance between them and knelt down once more in front of her, his head nearly level with hers. She closed her eyes, feeling a rush of dizziness, completely embarrassed that she was sobbing in front of -- _of all people_ -- Severus Snape.

"It is _my_ fault," he whispered, and Hermione opened her eyes on him, taken aback, "I should not have sent you alone."

Hermione shook her head. "No. I should have been more vigilant," she snorted, wiping her eyes once more. "Rather pathetic member of the Order, I'd say."

He stared at her, at the freckles scattered recklessly across her cheeks, at her wide, brown eyes, and found himself rather alarmed at the thought that some harm could have befallen her. Startled by this new found sentiment, he shook his head and said aloud, "Lean your head forward. I'm going to check the cut."

She didn't hesitate. And with the gentleness of a mother holding her newborn child for the first time, Severus parted the wild tangle of hair just above her neck and discovered a mat of blood, already coagulating on its own accord. He cleaned the area quickly and skillfully with his wand, siphoning the excess blood away from the gash. "Are you in any pain?" he asked, once the task was finished.

She brought her head back erect, tilting it gingerly from one side to the other. "A bit," she admitted.

He produced a stopped phial from his robes and Hermione wondered vaguely how many pockets the damned thing had.

"Drink it."

Again, she did as she was told, tilting her head back to down the liquid. An uncomfortable silence immediately fell as she handed him the empty phial. She knotted and entwined her trembling fingers together over and over again, almost as though she were unsure of how they fit together.

"I hit Rita Skeeter," she said quite suddenly and in a rush, lowering her head to rest between her palms. "Oh, Merlin, I hit _Rita Skeeter_."

_Completely unnecessary, Hermione. And what do you expect him to do about it?_

But he didn't lash out verbally like she expected him to. Instead, as her hair fell around her face and she massaged her temples, she heard him say shortly, "That was foolish in the extreme."

"I know," Hermione groaned, lifting her head to meet his dark eyes. "Believe me, I_ know_." Even as she spoke she felt the absolute sickness of it returning. "I don't know what came over me. I-I wasn't in control."

Severus stood silently above her, hovering with a wonderful impersonation of a bat -- evidently giving some semblance of credulity to his former namesake from most all Gryffindor students. The moment of silence, however, passed rather quickly.

"What were you thinking of?" he hissed loudly, grabbing both of her arms and hauling her to her feet, completely ignoring the fact that she had only just been attacked by some deranged wizard. "How very _Gryffindor_ of you. Where is your subtlety? If you continue on in this manner -- flaunting the traits of your former house -- I will have nothing to do with you, Hermione!"

"But - "

"There are _no_ exceptions," he said darkly, and suddenly seemed to realize the tightness of his grip on her arms. Immediately he released her, as though he'd been burned. "Show a little discretion."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You don't even know what happened."

"I do not _need_ to know, Hermione. There is no excuse for it. It was a foolish, Gryffindor, outburst, and now you will bear the consequences of your actions. Skeeter is enchantingly nasty, to say the least. Do not think for a moment that the incident will not be on the front page of the _Prophet - _"

"Don't you think I know that?" Hermione shouted, finding her voice. "I'm not a fool!"

"Then you would not have struck her!"

Hermione stood tall, her robes still dripping from her long journey to Avondale. Her hand twitched involuntarily, seeking the comfort of her wand. "You don't know me," she whispered darkly. "You have no _idea_ what I've been through." And then her voice grew in a rapid crescendo. "You think that just because you possess what you call 'Slytherin subelty' that you can tell me what I should or should not have done? You would have killed her on the _spot_ for what she said!"

Severus studied her with a raised eyebrow and then smirked dryly, "Ah, so did she insult that retched excuse of a cat of yours? Or perhaps it was Weasley's intelligence?" he added, nastily.

Outrage boiled through her at his words. And Hermione looked as though he, himself, had slapped her. "Not that it's any of your bloody business, but she was exploiting my parents." She turned abruptly, reaching into her robes to procure the letter from Sophie, and all but threw it at him. "She knew that tomorrow was the three year anniversary of their death. And I don't care if your potion changes the wizarding world or _stops_ the killing curse mid-air! You can be your own damn runner! I'm through here!"

She stormed through the little hallway, wiping her tears on the wet sleeve of her robe, making her face all the more damp. She heard his footsteps behind her, but she hurried down the front steps and out into the blowing rain.

"Hermione," Severus drawled behind her, "Calm yourself. I will not let you leave my presence until you can function completely coherently. I do not have the desire to rescue you from - "

"I will not calm myself! Here I was trying to help you -- to be your friend! What in Merlin's name was I thinking?" And she marched forward through the stinging rain, sloshing through the mud as the thunder rumbled ominously above her.

He came about and stood in front of her, blocking her path. He stood tall, his robe billowing behind him like a wrathful king. She sighed, feeling the emotional exhaustion of the day seep into already aching bones; deflated. She did not look at him. She didn't look at anything. He watched her carefully.

"Hermione," he said at length, and she thought his voice sounded oddly strangled. "I...was harsh. I should not have said such things where your...parents were concerned."

Her eyes flicked up to him and she held his gaze. "They were murdered," she said without emotion, looking up at him rather dully, her wet hair obstructing much of the view of her face. "And I didn't protect them."

Severus stared at her, not knowing what to say. What hollow words could comfort this poor woman? He swallowed, his adam's apple working under the white skin of his throat.

"Hermione..."

She moved around him, making her way down the little path that led back to the Forbidden Forest. "I don't have anything else to say."

And Severus, realizing that he, too, did not have anything to say, turned and followed her, annoyed he felt the need to see to it she returned to Hogwarts safely.

* * *

_A/N: First of all, I want to say for the record, I know the Apothecary isn't located in Knockturn Alley. However, it worked out too perfectly to have it placed in that dingy, little alley as far as my fic was concerned, so I bent cannon a bit. Hope all you die-hards of the books can forgive me. :) This chapter took a little longer than I expected, I kept getting stuck with Hermione and Sophie...and there will be more on Sophie as the story goes on. I've decided I'm quite fond of her. A HUGE 'thanks' for all the reviews so far! They motivate me like you wouldn't believe. Please leave your thoughts and let me know if I'm being coherent at all. It's a bit slow progressing, but we'll get to the good HG/SS stuff before too long. :) I love you all.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_"Follow your heart, but be quiet for awhile first. Ask questions, then feel the answer. Learn to trust your heart."_

-Unknown

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**Chapter 6**

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**

Hermione rolled over in her plush, over-sized bed, taking the sheet covers with her as she did so. The morning light pounded through the high stained glass windows of her private quarters, a feature of her rooms she found quite annoying during the summer months; it was nearly impossible to sleep in. She stood, curling her bare toes on an elaborate Persian rug Charley Weasley had given her as a gift from one of his many travels. Still wrapped in her sheets, she lazily made her way to the nearest window, gazing out over Hogwarts' grounds, over the trees with leaves that burned of the fire of late summer; the early morning ground mist rolling like a ghost of a river, long and wet and cold.

Scratching her tousled hair with her free hand, she yawned once, and then, like a bucket of ice water falling over her head, the events of the previous day came crashing down upon her.

_Oh, Merlin._

She bathed and dressed quickly, throwing her damp hair into an untidy bun; only just retaining the presence of mind to grab her wand before she flew out the stone entrance of her rooms. She inhaled sharply once the door closed behind her, nearly barreling into a very out-of-sorts Minerva McGonagall, who had, by Hermione's guess, been standing outside her rooms for some time.

"Minerva - "

Wordlessly, the headmistress handed Hermione a thick, folded paper. The younger witch raised her brow, though she scarcely needed to guess what it was.

"Perhaps," Minerva said in brusque tones, "you might care to enlighten me, Hermione, as to why you are on the front page of the _Daily Prophet?_"

Hermione swallowed, unfolding the paper. Purposefully, she avoided the headmistress's stern gaze as her eyes lowered to the print.

_HERMIONE GRANGER MERCILESSLY ASSAULTS STAR REPORTER IN DIAGON ALLEY!_

_Has the lone female member of the 'Golden Trio' been driven to violence by insanity? One psychologist, Herbert Duncan, Order of Merlin, Third Class, seems to believe so. "The physiological effects of combat," Duncan says, "encompass a wide variety of processes and negative impacts, all of which must be taken into consideration in any assessment of the immediate and long-term costs of war." He goes on to say, "Sudden bursts of violence can certainly fall into this category." See page B1 for full story._

Reluctantly, Hermione turned the worn page.

_It seems as though war heroine and all-around role model, Hermione Granger, has a few skeletons in her closet, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. _Recently under the pressure of being Hogwarts' youngest appointed professor at the post of Transfiguration -- not to mention the recent deaths of her parents (both muggles) at the hands of unknown Death Eaters -- the young Miss Granger was the subject of quite a scene in Diagon Alley this Friday, having forcefully struck myself, Rita Skeeter, several times (without provocation) in an arguably violent and malicious way._

"_Several _times!?" Hermione exclaimed, nearly dropping the paper. "What a load of rubbish!"

Minerva, for her part, remained stoically silent as Hermione read on.

_As a seasoned reporter, I pose this question to you, parents. Is this the sort of behavior that is considered appropriate for a woman who is supposedly 'in charge' of the well-being of your children? Was this the first incident of such violence? I, myself, shudder to think of a young child facing such wrath. Luckily for myself, however, the horrific attack occurred in the middle of a crowded street while still light, and certain passersby were able to pull the furious woman off me, saving me from further physical damage. I ask you, parents, have your children been so lucky? And will they be, if an unfortunate outburst like this happens again?"_

Hermione looked up with the reluctance of a small child refusing to take their medicine.

"Minerva," she hesitated, "I _know _how this looks. While it's..._true_," she admitted reluctantly, "there, there _was_ an altercation -- it was _nothing_ the way Rita described it here." She waved her hands helplessly in front of her. "Please, I know how this must look for the school," and her eyes flicked down to the paper, where she first noted a small moving photograph of a woman -- clearly not her, though certainly pretending to be -- striking an overly dramatic Rita Skeeter, who was looking shocked and horrified as she repeatedly fell backwards. "Oh, bullocks! This isn't even me, obviously!" She pointed her index finger to the photo, and looked up at Minerva with wide eyes. "This woman's got straight hair!"

Hermione cursed under her breath, completely furious, and tossed the paper onto the stone floor. "Minerva, I -- "

"Hermione," Minerva said helplessly, though there was a tight undercurrent in her strained voice. "I _know_ you. As your head of house for six years, I think I find it safe to say that I know what you would or would not do. And while I _know_ you would never resort to violence unless forced to, I believe you understand the serious position you have placed myself and the school in without me belaboring it. I will not insult your intelligence by pretending you do not comprehend the severity of the situation."

Hermione nodded, guiltily. "Yes, I do understand, Minerva. I really am, _eternally_ sorry."

The headmistresses tightened her lips until they were nothing but a thin line. At length, she sighed, "Would you care then, Hermione, to enlighten me as to what transpired yesterday evening?

Hermione, her eyes on the floor, becoming strangely interested in a loose stone corner, said very quietly, "It's simple, really. I was in Diagon Alley to -- , oh, _Merlin_," she groaned, smacking her forehead rather forcefully, "I completely forgot to fetch what you needed. Minerva, I'm so -- "

"You're quite fine, child," Minerva interrupted dismissively," Hagrid is going to Diagon Alley later this evening. I'm certain he would only be too delighted for an extra task." She motioned her hand forward. "Please, continue."

Hermione nodded shyly. "Thank you," she muttered. "Er, yes, I was in Diagon Alley. Rita found me -- God only _knows_ how she did in that crowd. I swear the woman has bat ears or something," she grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. "She, well," her eyes flicked to the floor again, "she... knew that today was the three year anniversary of my parents' deaths. She yelled it at me as I was walking away."

"Oh, _Hermione."_

Tears stung Hermione's eyes and she covered her mouth with a trembling hand. "It's fine," she managed, though she felt her throat tighten, "I, um...well, I overreacted, obviously. I crossed the street and slapped her. That was all. The moment after the euphoria wore off I felt sick about it," she shook her head and slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. "I don't know _how_ it happened, Minerva. One moment I was in complete control, and the next," she trailed off, waving her hand in search for an answer, "...it was as though something snapped, and my body was acting on its own accord, while my mind stood by, powerless to stop it."

"Hermione." Minerva paused for a brief moment, looking squarely at the younger woman. "I daresay if the situation been reversed and I had been in your shoes," she grasped Hermione's shoulder, "I likely would have done something far worse than slap the woman."

Hermione blinked, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes," Minerva said, her thin lips resolving to a sad smile. "Unfortunately, however, as you are a public figure in the Wizardingly world, there could be severe consequences. I will speak to the Board of Governors on the matter, as well as the Ministry. As Rita Skeeter has a rather _less_ than reputable history, I hope nothing too dramatic will result from either office." She paused to idly scratch her cheek. "It's the rumors that will be difficult to control. I'll send an owl to the _Prophet's_ editor immediately -- Cuthe, was it? -- to demand a written apology from Skeeter. The sooner it's resolved, the better."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Is there anything I can do for you, Minerva? I'd be glad to, if I could."

The headmistress smiled sadly. "No, Hermione. I will take care of this. It is...a day of remembrance for you. I was planning a staff meeting today regarding the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, but if you would like to spend the day in Oxfordshire, you certainly have my blessing and are excused from the meeting. But please, whatever you do, child; be careful."

Hermione nodded, numbly. Without meaning to, she remembered the last words her parents had spoken to her before they were killed. Before they were cold and unmoving and lifeless in the ground.

_Hermione_, they had said ridiculously, _Princess Hermione_.

_"Honestly, Mum. Stop calling me that. I'm twenty-two."_

He father had laughed jovially, planting a kiss on the top of her dark head. _"Well, I suppose it's Queen Hermione, anyways. Wasn't she the Queen of -- "_

_"Sicily," _his wife finished for him, nodding her agreement. _"Though I doubt Hermione would approve _that_ title. It's a bit more regal, I think."_

_"Good God, please, no_," Hermione had protested, completely mortified, raising her hands in objection. _"If any of my friends heard you calling me that, I'd die."_

Her mother laughed once, examining her daughter's face. _"Take it,"_ she said after the slightest of hesitations, shoving a worn book into Hermione's hands.

Hermione's eyes widened once she saw the cover. _"But, Mum,"_ she countered, shaking her head, _"you're never without it. I couldn't."_

Her mother had smiled warmly. _"It's yours, dear. I've been planning on giving it to you for ages. It's always been yours, dear. You know, I read it to you when -- "_

_"When you were pregnant with me, yes. I know," _Hermione interrupted with a smile, taking the precious, holy, gift. _"A Winter's Tale," _she chuckled ruefully, looking down at the worn, leather cover. _"I can't believe that's how you came up with my name."_

Her mother shrugged helplessly. _"It was so beautiful. I couldn't resist."_

Hermione smiled. "_Goodbye, Mum, Dad. See you in September for my birthday."_

_"You better make it this year,"_ her father threatened. _"It's not much of a party without the birthday girl!"_

Hermione smiled. _"I'll be there."_

The cool air in the tower chilled Hermione. It was the brief appearance of goosebumps on her forearms that brought her out of her reverie. She missed her parents sorely, with an ache and emptiness that couldn't be put into words. She faced Minerva in silent conversation as a draft wound up her robes, touched her cheek, and chilled her where the tears had left wetness. She wiped her cheeks and said in a strained voice, "Thank you, Minerva. I appreciate it more than you know."

The headmistress' bright eyes, full of unshed tears of her own, looked upward sadly. "Be careful, child. Send me your Patronus once you've returned so I know you made it safely."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Of course."

And without warning, the headmistress took a quick step forward and wrapped her thin arms around Hermione's neck, hugging her fiercely. "I love you, child. You know that, don't you?"

Hermione closed her eyes, forcing the tears back that were threatening to fall again, and nodded against the older woman. "Yes, I know. I love you, too."

000

Hermione walked quickly. There was a breeze that rolled over her ears, over the exposed white undersides of her wrists and cheeks. When she arrived at the little gate, she closed her eyes briefly, feeling the momentary freedom of the wind dancing with her loose hair that had long since fought its way out of her bun. The headstones here were a much duller shade than the grandiose white marble that marked Professor Dumbledore's and Severus' pseudo tomb. They were simple and plain; not the markers of heroes. Hermione walked through the gate, closing it on the squeaking hinge behind her, and slowly made her way down the narrow pathway. When she arrived at her intended destination, she looked downward.

She stared for a long moment. The breeze touched her skin and she shivered.

_Hermione._

The resonance of her father's voice came softly, an echo of what was once spoken, like the voice of the sea from a shell.

"Dad?" she said.

_Hermione._

This time it was her mother's voice, warm and soft, entering into the deep recesses of her mind in a place where she could hear it.

She struggled to hear more. The summer breeze still brushed against her cheek, and once again she heard the voice enter into her mind --_Hermione_--speaking her name in such a way that it shook her to her very core. It was a strange sensation, a finger of thought, a rush of words that expected no response, as indifferent to her as to a tree.

It was beautiful.

There in the warm summer afternoon, Hermione cried for her parents. She longed to talk to them in truth, to tell them that she was sorry, that she should have been there to protect them. That it was _her _fault they had been targeted in the first place. She wanted them to know that she had tried to find those who had killed and tortured them, that she had chased every lead.

She wasn't sure when she had dropped to her knees, or when she had fallen forward so that she was leaning on her mother's headstone with her forearm pillowing her head, tears spilling freely onto the cold stone. She leaned back abruptly, looking at the unmoving object that saw and felt nothing. She knew they were gone, knew that what she heard was only an echo. But the echo reminded her of the unfinished business she had, of the promise she made to her parents -- to see that their murderers faced justice for what they had done.

"Hermione."

This time the voice was real and tangible, not some long lost thought in the deep recesses of her mind. Without turning from the headstone, she closed her eyes and whispered, "How did you find me?"

It was silent for a long time, and she heard his robes rustle closer. "It was not difficult," was all that was said.

"Oh."

She stood slowly and turned around. Severus Snape was standing between two small trees, their branches thin and new. His black eyes were on her face, on the tear tracks that moved in an irregular pattern down her cheeks. With a start, she wiped them, and hurriedly brushed the dirt and twigs off her navy robe.

"You should not have come here alone," he said brusquely, carefully avoiding her brown eyes.

"Pardon?"

"It was _foolish_ to come alone," he reiterated, scanning the little cemetery for any unwanted visitors.

Her eyes narrowed, not even taking the time to think how he had found her. "Shouldn't you be more concerned with blowing your cover?" she asked tersely. "Rather than chasing me around the country to see if I have a chaperon? In case it's escaped your attention, I _wanted _to be alone today." And then she added darkly, "You had _no_ right to come here."

"No, Hermione," he said dangerously, walking up the little path to stand in front of her, "it has not _escaped my attention, _as it likely would not have escaped the attention of any Death Eaters that would only have to think for _one _second that you would be at _this_ cemetery today, mourning the deaths of your parents on the very anniversary of their deaths."

Hermione blinked. That stroke of genius had never occurred to her on any previous visits.

"You think just because you haven't found the Death Eaters who murdered your parents that they would be unable to find you?" He nearly laughed. "I assure you, Hermione, it would only be _too _easy."

"I don't care," she said recklessly, "Let them find me. It's what I've been wanting for the past three years!"

One hand seized her tightly, and her eyes flicked up at him in shock. He leaned over her, gripping her arm and looking as though he desperately wanted to shake her. "Don't be foolish," he whispered angrily, his voice harsh, "You'd be killed before you could even blink."

"I can take care of myself," she spat, pulling back on his grip.

"Oh, yes," he sneered. "I did not mean to insult your skill with a wand when you were very nearly violated yesterday. How rude of me."

Simultaneously, she felt warmed and annoyed by his concern. Warmed, that in some strange part of his being, he was, perhaps, worried about her -- though that particular thought still left her baffled. And annoyed, because she had always been able to get herself out of a tight spot in the past, and was perfectly capable of fending for herself.

In the end, her anger won out.

"Why the hell do you care anyway? I didn't ask for you to follow me!"

"It is more a matter of habit," he ground out between clenched teeth. "Asinine behavior was quite commonplace within the _Golden Trio_, if my memory serves me. Tell me, Hermione," and he leaned closer, his thick hair brushing against her cheek, "what do you think would happen if you were captured by Death Eaters and a Legilimens had you for five seconds? Hmm?"

Hermione had a feeling the question was rhetorical. Severus confirmed her theory a moment later when he continued, "The Order would be outed! Not to mention your knowledge of my existence. _This," _he emphasized, shaking her slightly,_ "This _is why I _care._"

"I would never give you away," she countered, looking up at him defiantly. _And Legilimens aren't as common as you make them out to be._

"Purposely?" Severus snorted, only slightly releasing the pressure on her arm. "No, I am quite certain your nauseating nobility would prevent that from happening."

Frowning a little, she looked back up at him, "I'm sorry, alright? What would you like me to say? That I'm sorry I wanted to be alone here? That I wanted to have a moment's peace with my parents?"

He looked down at her. In that moment, as the breeze whipped both their hair into a fury, something shifted in his eyes. "I will be down the hill, past the field," he said at length, his voice tight, gesturing with a slight nod over his shoulder to the general direction. "I will wait for you."

And before Hermione could question him, he took one step backward and Disapperated. The _crack_ of his departure seemed particularly loud on the quiet hilltop, and Hermione jumped slightly, startled by the deafening sound. She stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the space Severus had only just occupied. A fresh breeze came unbidden, ruffling the loose strands of her hair. With a final glance across the valley and the seemingly empty field, Hermione turned back to her parents' headstones.

Kneeling in the soft earth, she bowed her head in defeat, idly plucking at a blade of grass that was longer than all the rest. And when the wind whipped tears to her eyes, she drew her wand and conjured two wreaths that were rather beautiful in their simplicity. She would never know long she knelt there in quiet agony. An hour? Two? Time was rather irrelevant. Finally, when she felt certain she could cry no longer, she cast one last meaningful glance at both headstones and said a silent prayer for the souls of her parents, that if they somehow still existed somewhere, in whatever form, that they might know she loved them, and that they might forgive her.

She stood and brushed off her robes, sending several dried blades of grass out into the chaos of the breeze.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, turning and heading back to the squeaky gate.

She fingered her wand while slowly descending the steep hill. Emotionally weary as she was, she wondered if she should search for Severus, or if it would be rude to Apparate to Hogwarts without speaking to him first. She didn't have much time to think on the matter. Idly scratching her right forearm as she circumvented around a large boulder, she spotted a flash of black against the the light browns of the field heading toward her.

She sighed, completely confused by the man. Why would he risk exposing himself in broad daylight? True, it was_ possible_ (not probable) that any number of Death Eaters could have been waiting to apprehend her at the cemetery -- though it was a _stretch _to think they all possessed skills in Legilimency. Perhaps, she thought, watching his dark expression as they made their way toward one another, he was simply paranoid. She certainly didn't blame him for it. Twenty years of playing two sides of a war would likely make her wary of even the slightest of possibilities.

But was there something else?

Hermione was relatively certain he didn't hover around Sophie the way he did with her, and she obviously knew his secret. Somehow she couldn't quite imagine him lurking in the back of the Apothecary each and every afternoon to make sure the elderly witch wasn't assaulted by Death Eaters who threatened to read _her_ mind. A strange thought came to her and she paused in her step. Could it be that he was genuinely concerned for her?

_Absurd, Hermione. You've taken an idea and run away with it._

She could make out the harsh plains of his face perfectly now. His dark eyes were focused, and when she was three strides away from him, she immediately detected some amount of annoyance within him.

"It's been almost three hours," he accused in ill-tempered tones.

Hermione shrugged recklessly. "I don't recall asking you to stay."

Severus looked thunderous. "You ungrateful girl!" he snapped. "Gryffindors have the worst sort of judgement -- thinking themselves to be invincible. Do you ever truly_ think_, Hermione? There are several Death Eaters unaccounted for and you would be their greatest prize if they happened upon you!" He had taken a step forward and realized with a start that he was yelling. He generally wasn't a yelling man. Snarky, sarcastic, and sneering -- certainly; but yelling? It wasn't often.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise at his outburst and then narrowed quickly. "And I told you earlier that I didn't care! Let them come for me! I _want_ them to!"

Severus looked as though she had slapped him.

"_What?_"

It was true she wasn't deliberately seeking death -- though it was quite obvious by Severus' reaction he interpreted her remark to be just that. Even in her darkest hours she had never been suicidal. She was a Gryffindor. A fighter through and through. She had never given up on anything in her life just because something was difficult and she sure as hell wasn't about to start. But there was a strange part of her that wanted the Death Eaters to find her. She wasn't a fool -- she knew she wouldn't stand much of a chance in a duel against anyone of those bastards. They were trained to fight. To kill. But would they have information? Would they know who had killed her parents? Did _they_ kill her parents? The possibility somehow enticed her with strange promises of closure. Perhaps if she just _knew_, perhaps then, if she were killed, it would be okay.

That her own soul might still be intact.

Or, she reflected smugly, that she could at least try to take a few of the bastards down with her.

"Hermione," said Severus, his voice dangerously soft, "am I to understand that you wish for death?"

She hesitated. "Not exactly." And then she shook her head. "You wouldn't understand. And I didn't mean to sound ungrateful before. I do appreciate that you were here, making sure that nothing happened."

He ignored her last comment, pressing her. "What exactly do you think I would not understand?" he snapped abruptly. "And for the record, Hermione, this wallowing in self-pity is unseemly and dues not suit you."

She looked at him quietly for a moment, watching the light and shadows change on his face as the breeze blew the branches of a tree above them.

"It's not self-pity," she retorted. "And can you just drop it, please? I feel I have been more than courteous with avoiding painful personal memories in your regard. I respectfully ask that you return the favor."

Severus reached forward and grabbed her right arm tightly. "There is a slight difference," he hissed, "in that _my_ past does not threaten _you _in anyway. Where is your sense, girl? Others may be willing to let you flaunt around wherever you choose and potentially endanger your life and the secrets of the Order, but I am _not_."

"Let me go!"

He immediately released her, though his eyes still flashed dangerously.

She rubbed her arm and eyed him warily, taking a small step away from him. "I do not_ wish_ for death, as you so aptly put it, Severus. I, however, have no further wish to discuss this as it is something you simply cannot understand."

"Indeed?" he raised his dark brow and took a step towards her. "I take it I do not understand how it must feel to have the pressing guilt of knowing it was _your_ decision that killed someone you loved. That I do not know how it feels to wonder if your soul is still in tact. That I do not wonder _each_ and _every_ day of my life if I could have simply chosen another path."

Hermione looked up at him, horrified.

_Oh, God. Hermione, you social elephant. You complete idiot.  
_

"No, Hermione," he sneered. "It appears I know _nothing_ of your situation."

And then he turned and walked away from her.

Hermione reeled, momentarily dumbstruck. "Wait! Severus, please wait!"

He had only taken a few strides, but she had to jog quickly to catch him up. He paused, but did not turn around.

"I'm," she breathed, "I'm sorry. Please. Don't go."

She looked down at her hands. He had not turned around to face her, but he hadn't Disapperated either. She felt that, at least, was a good sign.

"It's _my _fault they're dead," she mumbled, and then she did hear him slowly turn to face her, a few dried leaves crunching under his feet. "I - I was supposed to be there. To help them plan what we were meant to do for my birthday."

She looked up and saw his gaze intently on her. "But, I never showed," she continued miserably. "I stayed at Hogwarts to finish reading a book for my internship. A damn _book!_" she shouted suddenly, and to Severus' surprise, threw her wand as far as she could across the field. "I could have protected them!" she cried, and then sank in anguish to her knees, her chest heaving. "They were t-tortured without any reason or purpose. The Cruciatus. I had at least _known_ what it was when it happened to me," she shook her head and buried her face in her hands with shame, "they didn't even understand what it was that was hurting them."

And then she realized with a small amount of trepidation that she was sobbing again, and that Severus had somehow managed to haul her shakily to her feet, his hands awkwardly at her armpits as he lifted her off the ground.

She leaned her back against him briefly, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her robe.

"_Accio _Hermione Granger's wand," Severus muttered, moving her slightly to the side as the flying projectile flew at him from where it had been discarded in the field. Without a word, he handed it to her. She hesitated only slightly, and then reached out to take the elegant vinewood from his proffered hand.

"Sorry about that."

He snorted.

"No, I mean, I really wasn't going to do that." She laughed once, shakily. "Merlin, I hate being so emotional."

Severus nodded gravely. "The occasion calls for it, I think," he said uneasily. And then, without understanding how or why, and before he could stop the words from rolling out of his mouth, he asked, "Would you care to accompany me to Avondale for tea?"

Hermione looked up at him, startled by his request. Her eyes were red, her face puffy -- she was fairly certain she looked appallingly bad, but she nodded immediately. "Yes, thank you."

After an uncharacteristically long moment, he said, "I will go first and take down the wards. Wait for precisely four minutes and then follow."

Before Hermione could even acknowledge his statement, he had disappeared with a resounding _crack_.

000

The air was cooler in Avondale. Great trees cast dramatic shadows across the forest floor, effectively blocking the late afternoon sun. Even as Hermione lifted her hand to knock on the door to the little cottage, it opened; Severus Snape stood to the side, motioning with a pale hand for her to enter. She squeezed past him, blushing furiously as she did so. His gaze was difficult enough to meet from across a room, let alone their current proximity. Moving past him, she made her way down the hallway to the familiar living room where she seated herself at her customary couch. He disappeared momentarily to the kitchen, returning a few short seconds later with a tea cup in each hand. Bending slightly to offer her a cup, she gratefully accepted with a small smile.

"Thank you."

She wrapped her hands around the cool porcelain and waited for him to seat himself on the loveseat adjacent to her.

"A point of curiosity, Hermione," Severus said, taking a sip of his tea.

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for hers to cool. "Yes?"

There was a brief flicker of hesitation that was gone in the next instant, and Hermione wondered if she had truly seen it at all. "At Oxfordshire," he looked up from his drink, "you... mentioned having been under the Cruciatus."

Hermione nodded, blowing on her own drink. "Yes, that's correct."

He frowned at this, becoming keenly interested in the contents of his tea cup. "And when did this transpire?"

Hermione stared at her cup for several moments. Aside from the Death Eaters that had witnessed the scene at Malfoy Manor, Harry, Ron, and Ginny were the only others who knew what had transpired between herself and Bellatrix that night. There had never truly been a need to report it to the _Prophet, _the Magical Law Enforcement Offices, or the Ministry; as Bellatrix LeStrange had been blessedly killed during the Final Battle. Hermione felt as though she had enough unwanted attention as it was; there was no need to add dry kindling to the roaring fire.

"When Harry, Ron, and I were searching for the Horcruxes," she replied at length, finally taking a tentative sip of her tea.

He focused her with a dark stare. "And whom was the caster?"

She looked up at him, raising a light eyebrow. "It was seven years ago, Severus. It's hardly relevant - "

"Was it Lucius?" he interrupted in forbidding tones, his black eyes focused keenly on her.

Hermione frowned, taking another sip of her tea before she placed it on the coffee table, only just retaining the presence of mind to conjure a coaster. "No, it wasn't him. It was Bellatrix LeStrange if you must know."

His dark eyes blazed more intently if it were at all possible, and he, too, set his cup on the coffee table. "How long were you under the curse?"

Stiffly, she replied, "I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you."

"How _long_?" he pressed, his lips tightening.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because," he ground out, clearly trying to keep in temper in check, "if you were properly schooled in the matter -- and I doubt you were, with the abysmal professors on your track record -- you might have realized that prolonged exposure can result in insanity."

Hermione looked up at him. "You think I'm crazy?"

He sat straight on the couch. "Not at all. I'm certain, however, that you are aware of the other side effects."

He watched the comprehension of it seeping into her face. "Relapses," she said flatly, after a few seconds of silence.

Severus nodded once. "Have you had any?"

She hesitated. "It's...been a long time."

She looked to her fingernails, fidgeting slightly on the couch. "It felt like an eternity when it was happening," she clarified, her own voice sounding loud in her ears. "Though Harry and Ron told me afterward that it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes."

Severus jerked his head up, looking at her almost levelly. He blinked."The strength of the curse is affected greatly by the skill and will of the caster," he said flatly. "Knowing Bellatrix," and he hesitated for the second time that day, "I have no doubt the duration felt infinitely longer than the actual passage of time."

She met his eyes, wondering if he, too, perhaps had been subjected to Bellatrix's madness. "Why did you want to know?" she asked again, this time, softly. "And for the record, _professor_," she added with a ghost of a smile, "you were one of those 'abysmal' instructors that taught the Dark Arts."

A corner of his thin mouth lifted. "You knew the answer, did you not? No doubt you received the knowledge under my instruction."

Hermione laughed once. "Actually it was Professor Moody - er, well, Barty Crouch Jr., I suppose."

Severus took a deep breath. He seemed to be thinking deeply for a moment. Then he ran a hand through his black hair and leaned toward her from his couch. "The reason for my asking was not simply an invasion of your privacy," he said reluctantly. "Rather, there are a few potions that have helped myself with the minor relapses - if only slightly. I merely wished to extend them to you, if they were needed."

Hermione blinked. "Oh. Well, thank you, but I haven't had a relapse for a few years now." She picked up her tea again. "I was hoping I'd experienced the last of them."

Severus nodded, though he didn't look particularly convinced. With a small frown, Hermione deduced that he, at least, had not finished experiencing the painful tremors.

He studied her eyes for a moment. Then he opened his mouth to speak, and paused. After a awkward span of silence where cups clanked against coasters and nervous glances shifted, Severus found his voice. "For a man that values privacy above all else, I do wish to apologize for intruding on you earlier. I hope, at least, that you can understand my reasoning for doing so."

Shock flooded through her at his apology. This was a man who had willingly mocked her at school, who effectively made the lives of her friends a living hell, and he was offering -- with sincere intent - -an apology? Oh, she realized he had a part to play back then. An act. But even still the comment left her off balance, as she simultaneously realized she likely did not know or understand the man sitting next to her at all.

"Er, it's fine," she muttered, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded once, looking as uncomfortable as she felt. "And what did the _Prophet_ have to say about your visit to Diagon Alley last night?" he queried, changing the subject.

Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. "I should have left Rita Skeeter in that jar all those years ago. She wouldn't know anonymity or anything 'off-the-record' if it came up and bit her on the ass."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "How colorful," he supplied.

She blushed. "Sorry. It's just, aren't journalists supposed to be servants of the truth? Does Cuthe even _read_ the preprint?" She put her tea down and leaned closer toward him, feeling a little reckless. "The problem is truth never accommodates itself. Rita cares more about selling papers than printing anything that might be from a disreputable source. If it's interesting, write it. Bugger the facts. She takes something and completely runs away with it, ignoring the inconvenient details. What the hell kind of reporter is that?"

Severus chuckled deeply. "You've known Skeeter for years now and you're still surprised by her actions? You're more naive that I thought, Hermione."

Momentarily distracted by his pleasant laugh, Hermione quipped, "How has she not been fired? She's turning the _Prophet _into a tabloid." And then she buried her face in her hands. "A tabloid, apparently, that witches and wizards still believe."

"I take it your story made the front page?"

"Yes," Hermione groaned into her hands. "Along with a lovely photograph of a witch with perfectly straight hair hitting her."

He watched with mild fascination the way her hair fell forward around her shoulders while her head was buried into her hands.

"And what would you say are the chances of a photographer being in the precise vicinity of the purported attack?" he asked, dryly.

Hermione raised her head. "_Exactly_ that, Severus. The problem is, will the general public take a moment to consider that it's all but impossible? Will they even _think_ to take into account that my hair has never been straight a day in my life? Or that Rita has been known to dance around facts in the past?"

He gave her a thin smile. "I take it Minerva is already on damage control."

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said exasperatedly. "She was planning on contacting the Board of Governors and the Ministry first thing this morning to convince them I am not a potential danger to the students."

Severus took a slow sip of his tea. "I doubt you have anything to fear. If a werewolf and Death Eater can grace Hogwarts' halls," he said with a glint in his dark eyes, "I doubt an abusive woman should pose much of a problem."

Hermione stared at him, incredulous. Could it be that he was _teasing _her? She wouldn't have been any more shocked if he got down on one knee and proposed marriage. "While I appreciate your confidence, Severus, I'm still nervous. Rita's a formidable opponent and the article was enticing in the extreme. I don't know what I'll do if Minerva tells me I can't teach anymore."

"Do not worry yourself over things which you cannot control," he said stiffly, instantly reverted back to the Severus Snape persona she was familiar with. "If it indeed does come to that, you will find ways to cope and move on. Though as I mentioned, I do not think you have anything to fear."

Hermione nodded, rubbing her eyes and feeling the emotional strain of the day seep into her bones. It grew quiet again and she found herself examining the hem of her sleeve, pulling at a loose thread as she absentmindedly considered the man that sat across from her. It felt somehow as if the universe was off balance, as if it had managed to slip out of alignment. Here she was in Severus Snape's cottage, speaking to him about the trivial concerns of her occupation over tea, when a few months prior, she had keenly felt the the agony of his death.

"The...Death Eaters who murdered your parents," Severus said tentatively, and Hermione's head shot up, effectively breaking her reverie, "who were they?"

She regarded him skeptically for a moment and considered not answering. She briefly entertained the idea of telling him to mind his own damn business, as she had respected the privacy of his. But she deflated quickly, with less than her typical flare, and sighed. "I don't know. The case was never solved." She pulled idly on a loose curl and bit her lower lip. "None of the Death Eaters in Azkaban fit the bill -- they were all questioned under Veritaserum."

"And none of them knew who could have done the deed?" Severus questioned.

Hermione shook her head numbly, looking out the living room window. "No."

Severus watched her silently for a moment. He took in the gentle outline of her profile, the way her lips pursed as she was deep in thought.

"It's possible," he said slowly, after several seconds of silence, "that I might be able to assist in that regard."

Hermione looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

His dark eyes held hers. And then he said at once, "Past hideouts, names, dates, patterns, contingency plans." He shrugged. "I could revisit it all if you think it might help."

The hair prickled on the back of her neck.

"I was, after all, a Death Eater, Hermione. I know how they think. Where they hide."

She almost reached out and grabbed his hand. Suddenly, the prospect of fulling her promise to her parents almost seemed within arm's reach. "Do you mean it? I - that is, you would help me?"

He composed himself and only just refrained from rolling his eyes at her eagerness, though he knew, despite what he told himself otherwise, that he had been longing to see a return of her inquisitive nature.

"I am not in the habit of making offers and then retracting them, Hermione," he said brusquely.

She blushed, chagrined. "Oh, of course." And then she smiled with a dazzling radiance that rivaled the morning sunrise, an expression on her face he had not seen since he had known her as a student. "Thank you, Severus. I - I almost don't even know what to say. For so long there have been no leads or evidence of anything new." She shook her head. "If there's any additional information you think the Aurors might not have, I'd be eternally grateful."

He nodded once and then felt compelled to add, "I do have one request for the use of my services."

Hermione looked up in eager anticipation. "Yes?"

"Any information I give you will be submitted to the Aurors and the Aurors alone. No, interruptions," he said in stern tones when he saw she was about to speak, "You are in _no_ way to take any information I give you to go by yourself on a foolish suicide mission in search for Death Eaters _or_ to elicit the assistance of your incapable friends. While I feel as though I've made myself perfectly clear in this matter, I will ask you regardless. Do you understand?"

"Harry and Ron _are_ Aurors," she mumbled rebelliously, glancing away from him.

"Indeed," said Severus dryly, standing to clear their now empty cups. "Then let them prove themselves if anything arises. You are not to go gallivanting idiotically around the country with the information I give you. Am I understood?"

Conflicting emotions momentarily tied her tongue. "I hardly see how it's your prerogative," she countered. "I'm an adult and am capable of - "

"Those are the stipulations of my offer," he interrupted darkly. "You can take it or leave it."

And then he disappeared through the doorway and into the kitchen.

_Well, of all the -_

She fumed silently to herself, wondering if she could keep such a promise. All she truly desired was to face the damnable bastards herself. Perhaps, though, she reflected somewhat reluctantly while working on her lower lip, it _would_ be better if Harry or Ron or any of the other Aurors pursued the leads Severus divulged.

Realistically, she was going to be _far_ too busy during the school year - _assuming I still have my job - _to entertain any ideas of chasing evidence across the wilds of the countryside. Annoyed as she was at feeling helpless, she knew a promise to Severus would be the most logical course of action. And what exactly was more important in the scheme of things? Her pride? Or finding answers? Aurors were trained especially for these types of scenarios, and as emotionally involved as she was in the case, she shuddered at the tempting thoughts that came unbidden to her mind. It wasn't difficult to imagine herself doing something she would later come to regret.

She looked up when she heard Severus returning from the kitchen, wearing the same dark expression that always seemed to adorn his face.

She stood and straightened her robes, taking a step toward him.

"I accept the conditions of your offer, Severus," she said levelly, "and do so gratefully."

He quirked a dark brow. "I am then to take you at your word that you shall not pursue any information I give you?"

She nodded and sighed. "Yes, you have my word. Anything you give me will be passed along to the Aurors, and to them directly."

"Good," he said evenly. And then, in a gesture that had become habit, his hand swept up to his neck, rubbing it slowly. "There is another delicate matter I wish to discuss with you," he paused, "if you have a moment." And he gestured with his left hand toward the sofa.

She nodded immediately and returned to the still-warmed cushion, though her brow quirked up with curiosity.

He resumed his former position on the loveseat, only just realizing he was still massaging his neck. He stilled his hand instantly. Squaring his shoulders, he turned his gaze on her, taking a deep breath.

"On the night I pulled you from the ravine," he said somewhat stiffly, "you accused me of being in hiding."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"No interruptions," he said immediately. "For both our sakes, Hermione, please strive to keep this conversation from becoming _entirely_ unpleasant. What I am about to divulge, I do not do so lightly."

Chastened, she bit her lower lip. "I apologize," she said rather blandly. "I didn't mean any disrespect. I'm ready to listen."

He gave her a strange look, which disappeared as quickly as it had come, and if at all possible, he straightened further on the couch. Hermione momentarily saw the expression of a man who's put off something dreadful until even he had lost patience with himself. She had the strange feeling that he was already three or four conversations ahead of her, and didn't like what he saw.

"What I told you was not entirely true," he paused, as if considering his next words carefully, "nor was it untrue. After the incident with...Nagini, I barely managed to escape with my life." He paused again, as if daring her to ask for a recount of the tale. When she did nothing but stare at him with trusting eyes, he continued, "The Dark Lord had at last fallen. The Prophecy was fulfilled. And for the first time in twenty years," his lips quirked, "I was free."

He subconsciously rubbed his neck once more. "It is also true that you had some insight as to what my initial thoughts were. I had no desire to subject myself to the likes of Rita Skeeter or any other witch or wizard in the Wizarding world that had no business in my personal affairs. I owed them nothing. As a man who cherishes solitude and peace above all else, I saw little reason to trouble myself with the inevitable fame and subsequent questions that were sure to follow." They looked at each other gravely from across the sofa, in grim unity.

"You might wonder why I bothered saving myself in the first place," he queried, "if my intent was only to run away and wait out the remainder of my days." He gave her a wry smile. "You see, Hermione, there was an obvious reason I was not sorted into Gryffindor."

Hermione raised her brow at this, confusion etched into her face.

Finally, he said with a murmur that was almost impossible to hear, "I was a coward."

"_Severus--_"

"I specifically recall requesting you to _not_ interrupt," Severus snapped sharply, his black eyes flashing. Hermione looked as though she very much wanted to argue the statement, as if she were fighting an internal battle, but with another glance at his burning gaze, she merely bit her lip and gestured for him to continue.

"No doubt," he continued softly after a long pause, "you have been made aware of what transpired between myself and Lily Potter."

He saw her eyebrows rise in understanding, and then, she nodded reluctantly. The image of Severus and Lily ambushed her. It hurt, unexpectedly, like a stab in an already sore place. This snarky, unpleasant man that had loved unlike anything she had ever heard of.

"And what does the Wizarding world know?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "Only that Dumbledore ordered you to kill him, that it was the only way to secure your position with Volde-" she paused when she noticed his murderous gaze, "...er, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and that you had been loyal to Dumbledore and the Order all along. To my knowledge," she hesitated, "the only ones who know about you and...Lily are Harry and Ron and I, and I suppose Kingsley Shacklebolt," she back peddled a bit," as he was the one who secured the memories in a Ministry pensieve." She did not look at him when she added, "None of us have ever mentioned anything. We all thought you were dead."

"A gross exaggeration, don't you think?"

A little warmth came into her eyes as she smiled softly, "That's rather easy for you to say, I suppose. It wasn't long ago when I assumed your body was still missing."

The corner of his lips tugged upward. "As I said, a _gross _exaggeration."

After a moment of fingering his wand, he said evenly, "You were initially laboring under the misapprehension that I was wasting away in exile. Is that still your opinion?"

Hermione considered this. Obviously, he had been deep into his research. She still had a difficult time wrapping her mind around his attempt to create a potion that would counteract the aftereffects of the Cruciatus. To say it was no small feat would be the understatement of the century. It had never even been _attempted._ Only a fair few witches and wizards had the guts to even _think_ about entertaining the idea. She glanced over at his generously stocked supply shelves, likely full from Sophie's assistance. No, she shook her head, he certainly wasn't wasting away. Involuntarily, though, she wondered if he got lonely, if he ever longed to have some form of companionship.

Before she could answer him, he posed another question. "If I were to, 'return from the dead' as you so aptly put it, what, precisely, do you think I would wish to do?"

Hermione blinked. "Well," she asked quietly after a moment, "What would you like to do?"

His lip twitched briefly. Not a smile, but not a gesture of rejection either. "Do you wonder, perhaps, that I might be doing what I've wished to do all my life right now?"

Her brow furrowed. "Research?"

He nodded.

"No," she admitted. "I didn't know that was your passion." And she found herself blushing childishly at the word, 'passion'. "I assumed that you were limited to that profession by your decision to remain anonymous within the Wizarding world." And then she added before she could catch herself, "I, myself, have often wondered what it would be like -- to disappear," she clarified.

"Oh?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. The attention and fame I endure well enough," she said ruefully. "Though more and more often I find myself skulking in dark alleyways to avoid the limelight."

"Might I suggest," Severus said with a hint of sarcasm in his deep voice, "avoiding dark alleyways for the time being? After yesterday's incident, I'm quite confident you would agree with me when I say they do not suit you."

His deadpan was perfect. Hers, she knew, still had room for improvement.

"I _may_ consent to agree with you there," she replied cheerfully; and she smiled again, so heart-stoppingly genuine that it nearly took his breath away.

He gathered his wits about him before he continued, "That is, in a sense, what I wish to discuss with you."

"Avoiding dark alleyways?"

He shook his head. "No. Inadvertent potential dangers. Death Eaters. The ongoing war."

She looked at him for a long moment, her light eyes unreadable.

He sighed. "My contact with you and the subsequent knowledge of the outside world has been pressing upon me a great deal these past many weeks."

"Oh?"

He nodded and pocketed his wand. "It has become painfully apparent that while I have effectively shut myself off from the outside world, it has, as it always would, continued to move forward. Death Eaters are still at large, the Order continues to scramble for intelligence, and dishonorable wizards still lurk in dark alleyways, waiting to happen upon unsuspecting witches."

If it were at all possible, Hermione _felt_ the anger in his voice from his last example.

"And this knowledge," she supplied softly after a moment, "is eating you alive."

He leaned back, running both hands through his hair.

"Yes."

"And you intend to do something about it?"

He sighed. "If I can, yes. I intend to."

Hermione looked up and his eyes were closed. She was stuck, more than she expected to be, at the thought of him returning from the dead. Of the sacrifice he was planning to make -- yet _again_.

"Severus," she said finally, when she couldn't stand watching him like that any longer, "you've done more for the sake and benefit of the Order in this war than anyone. This is a fight another can do. You've pulled more than your weight. It's enough, now."

"It is _never _enough," he said in forbidden tones, opening his eyes on her.

_He still blames himself_, she realized sadly. _For Lily._

Her mind filled with images of a beautiful woman with ginger hair and a younger Severus Snape. The Gryffindor Muggle-born and the Slytherin Death Eater. It was a forbidden love of sorts, which was perhaps why it was destined to fail from the start. She looked over at him, at the harsh plains of his face, the tight, thin lips; the long, unkempt hair.

_Merlin,_ she thought as her heart fluttered,_ how the man had loved._

"Severus," she said gently, reaching out to grab his hands, but then thinking better of it, "I know you don't want pity or sympathy, but I want you to know that you're not a coward, and that you don't have to do this."

"You'd never buy those words," he countered mildly, looking down at her entwined hands, almost as though he knew she had intended to reach out to him.

"For me, they'll never be true," she replied with a grim smile. "I'm already a public figure of this war. I can't disappear. But you, you can."

He shook his head and held her eyes. "Gryffindors and their damnable nobility," he said lightly, and there was a curious gentleness in his dark eyes.

Hermione shrugged with a smile. "We can't really help ourselves."

"I'm aware," he said with deceptive mildness. "The fates seem to be conspiring against me."

"So that's it, then? You plan to return?"

Severus looked out the window, at the waning afternoon light. To Hermione, he appeared to be in a whole other world together. This brave, selfless man that put all others before himself. Then he replied so softly that she had to strain to hear him, "Yes."

She sighed and stood from the couch, only to come around and sit next to him on the loveseat. "Tell me that this is what you really want, that this is truly what's best for you. Not for the rest of the Wizardingly world, but for _you_. Tell me this and I'll do all in my power to help you. Or tell me that you're unsure, that you need to reconsider how _huge_ this truly is. I wouldn't think any less of you."

She was almost afraid to look up at him after her candor. But there wasn't anger or resentment in his dark eyes when she met them. Just compassion.

"Your concern is unnecessary," he said. The words, themselves, were harsh, but there was no rancor in his voice. "I've already made my decision."

She felt her heart pound loudly. "But what about your research?"

"It will wait. The current circumstances of the world suggest my knowledge might be needed elsewhere, for the moment."

"Severus," she said softly, helplessly, and he met her eyes silently. "My God. You...I - I mean, are you certain you wish to go through with this?"

"Yes," he whispered back, looking for all the world in that moment much like a seventeen-year-old, lost and uncertain. In the next instant, however, once she had blinked, the hesitation was gone, and the normal mask of indifference adorned his stern face.

"I was rather hoping," he added blandly, in another perfect deadpan, "that you would help me post a resume´."

And there in the gathering tension of the small living room, Hermione laughed loudly. "Of course. Perhaps the joke shop? Or maybe," she mused, "something at the Ministry?"

Severus scowled. "I should think not."

Hermione laughed again. "Is there anything you're interested in pursuing?"

He gave her a knowing look and she immediately felt foolish, her eyes widening in understanding. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts post?"

He nodded. "I confess it has sparked some amount of interest in me since you first mentioned the vacancy. If I was... permitted to assist the Order, it would be exceptionally convenient."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "With Minerva as the Headmistress and leader of the Order, your access to her would be invaluable -- not to mention the fact that she's been searching the entire continent for a witch or wizard who's actually qualified."

"_Qualified_," Severus said in mocking tones,_ "_is a rather generous adjective for some who have held that post in the past. Their deficiencies didn't seem to perturb Albus in the slightest."

Hermione grew thoughtful. "I've often wondered just exactly _what _Professor Dumbledore was thinking when he hired Lockhart."

Severus scowled once more. "He had just finished Magical Me and found it vastly entertaining. He hired him on the spot, if I recall correctly, and then felt the necessary urge to sing."

Hermione's brow shot into her hairline. "Are you serious?" she chocked, her face incredulous.

He nodded grimly, and then asked, "Is the post still vacant?"

She chewed absentmindedly on a fingernail. "As of this morning, it was. There was a staff meeting today, though, and Minerva mentioned the post specifically."

Severus nodded, idly scratching his chin. "Very well," he said quietly. "I shall visit Minerva tomorrow to discuss the situation."

They were silent for a moment -- him no doubt reviewing the demographics of Hogwarts, and all the possible hexes and curses that could fly at him before he reached the headmistress's office, and Hermione watching him quietly from her peripheral vision, at this man who had picked up the world at eighteen, and never set it down.

"And would it be easier," she said softly, reaching out with her shaking hand to cover his, "if I came with you to Hogwarts? To help explain?"

She almost thought he'd jump; but he didn't. She nearly jumped herself. He was likely too shocked to move. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then turned his head and opened them on her again.

"Foolish, brave, Gryffindor," he said quietly, and his dark eyes shifted again, and something stirred without telling.

She laughed a little. For being the first pseudo compliment he had ever given her, it wasn't bad. He stood without warning, pulling her up with him. "I will bid you good night, Hermione. There is still much I need to consider."

"All right," she said with a small smile. "But for what it's worth, my offer to go with you still stands."

"If I brought you," he mused, "you'd likely attempt hexing anyone in the vicinity. I'm confident the reaction you had when you first saw me would be considered _mild_ compared to a castle full of armed witches and wizards." And then he grew solemn. "You told me earlier you wished to stay out of the limelight."

It was true. She wanted nothing more than to walk down Diagon Alley or into Hogsmede without being accosted at every turn by some star-struck wizard or reporter. But that was the hand she had been dealt, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to play it to the best of her ability. Showing up at the gates of Hogwarts with a man who had been presumed dead for the last seven years likely wouldn't bode well with her plans to remain unexposed.

"It's not _you_, you know," she offered. "It's that they won't _know_ it's you. They'll think you're a Death Eater wearing Severus Snape's face."

"I _am _a Death Eater, Hermione."

"You know what I mean," she said flippantly.

He snorted ungraciously.

"And you're sure you'll be okay?"

He gave her a dark glare. "I have faced far worse than the likes of an enraged Minerva McGonagall, I can assure you."

"I don't know about that," Hermione countered, "I've been on the receiving end of one of her tirades and its not at all pleasant."

"That's because you lack subtlety. It's a wonder Gryffindors don't kill themselves when even the slightest of altercations occur."

She rolled her eyes. "I find it unbelievable you claim the root of all problems to be with _Houses_, of all things."

He shrugged. "The evidence has proven correct thus far."

"Do you think," Hermione asked, changing the subject, realizing neither would bend at the stalemate, "that they'll take you into the Ministry for questioning?"

She saw an involuntary flicker of anger, and then he stilled it, and looked back down at her. "I am assuming so."

Hermione frowned. "You don't trust them." It wasn't a question.

"Not any farther than I can hex them," he agreed.

She tilted her head to the side. "Which is how far, exactly?"

Severus rewarded her candor with a dark smile.

Hermione shook her head. "But you've done nothing wrong, Severus. You don't have anything to fear. Shacklebolt secured your memories in a pensieve -- the whole Wizarding world knows you're a hero."

His eyes darkened again and Hermione realized with a sudden certainty that to Severus, at least, the prospect of being revered as a hero by the Ministry was almost worse than being hated by the entire Wizardingly world for being an unpardonable bastard. She felt a churn of pity for him. Being hated was far easier.

"It doesn't matter, regardless," Severus said stiffly. "It is a necessity and therefore I see no point wasting away thinking on the unpleasantness of it."

They stood there looking at each other with the palpable heaviness of what was about to happen weighing in the small room like an unwanted third party.

"Severus -- "

"No, Hermione," said Severus firmly, his dark eyes unreadable. "This is what must be done. Do not try to dissuade me."

Her brow furrowed momentarily but then she nodded. "Okay."

"I'll escort you back to Hogwarts," he said in brusque tones, ushering her down the narrow hallway and out the front door.

"Oh, no. It's fine. You have enough on your mind as it. I don't need -- "

"I will brook no refusal," he said sharply, going so far as to grab her by the upper arm and pull her slightly behind him. "I am not so foolish as to leave you unattended on _this_ day."

Hermione felt an unexpected stab of pain in her already tender heart. With all the commotion of Severus and his shocking, selfless decision, she had nearly forgotten about her parents.

Nearly.

Severus paused in his step, looking down at her wordlessly. He must have taken in the grief in her eyes, the tight lines of her brow, the slight trembling of her arms underneath his firm grip. He wondered how God made it possible for humans to show such things, written and etched plainly over flesh and matter. In the next moment the harsh lines of his face softened, and he whispered, "Hermione."

She looked up at him, at the deep shadows on the plains of his face as the sun disappeared further behind the thick forest foliage. She realized, with a small amount of trepidation, that she was too tired to say anything other than the truth. "I miss them," she managed shakily. "Even if they've granted me forgiveness, I don't deserve it. I haven't even found their killers yet."

Severus blinked. "If there's any truth in that, Hermione," he said finally, "I will do all in my power to help you. I lived among the Death Eaters for nearly two decades. I'd seen far more of their...capabilities than you ever did. We can carry that burden together."

She felt one hot tear gather, and nodded. "Thank you," she whispered.

At the gates of Hogwarts, Severus stood in the shadows like a wrathful king, tall and straight, his shoulders back with his black robe billowing out behind him in the late evening breeze. Hermione turned when she was several paces from him and gave him a tentative smile. In the gathering darkness she wasn't sure if he saw, but she stayed for a moment, her own eyes taking in his dark silhouette. And then she turned on her heels and headed up the hill.

Behind her, Severus was perfectly still but for his flowing robes.

* * *

_A/N: Alright, folks, I'm needing honest opinions here. This chapter was long - much longer than any other chapter I've ever written for any story. Still, though, I felt as though everything needed to be in there. Was it too much? Should I have broken it into two? What are the overall opinions in general? This chapter was almost solely HG/SS interaction, so I hope everyone was at least pleased with that. I would apprecaiate any comments on whether this story is at all believeable, whether people like the direction it seems to be heading, or if its complete rubbish. To those who have reviewed before - I love you dearly. - Liz - _


	7. Chapter 7

_"Betrayal is the only truth that sticks."_

- Arthur Miller

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**Chapter 7**

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Hermione sat in brightly lit kitchen of Grimmauld Place, looking around a little aimlessly. She had spoken very little since she arrived, dropped nearly everything she touched while helping to set the table for breakfast, and stuck to Ginny like glue. Her friends seemed slightly unnerved by her despondent behavior, casting curious glances in her direction when they assumed she wasn't looking. She, for her part, had been uncharacteristically quiet and rather helpless all morning until Kobic, the Potter's black owl, dropped off the morning copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

_Oh, Merlin_, she thought, wringing the hem of her robe as the blood began to pound in her ears. _This is it._

She had gotten a hold of the morning's _Prophet _before she Apparated to Harry and Ginny's for breakfast. It was with a heavy churn in the pit of her stomach that she observed Harry beneath thick, curly hair. She knew it would later be one of the_ Prophet's _biggest stories; the triumphant report that Severus Snape had, in a shocking turn of events, survived the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry, for his part, immediately set about to reading the paper, holding up his forehead with one hand and unfolding the paper with the other while Ron continued to relay tales of the tragic plight of the Chudley Cannons. The strange glances Ron cast in Hermione's direction each time she fumbled the china did not go lost on her and she, none too forcefully, stood and backed surreptitiously toward the corner wall of the kitchen until there was a stagnant, prickly silence.

And then she watched as Harry gripped the paper tightly and leaned forward, and Hermione knew it was the moment that things would tip over, spill down and stain everything. She watched the comprehension of what he was reading seep into his face and noticed something shadowed in his eyes as he swallowed and his mouth dropped open.

_Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. I know what it feels like to have the world go mad around you. _

Ron had stopped speaking mid-sentence when he, too, took in the subtle differences of Harry's posture. _After all this time, Ron,_ Hermione thought as her heart pounded loudly in her ears, _you've finally learned to notice things beyond the obvious._

"The recruiting is going to be hell," Ron was saying, "After all, how do you market a team that's finished bottom of their division for the past -- you all right there, mate?"

Harry had looked up from the paper for the slightest of moments, glanced back down, and then back up again. Hermione's heart was beginning to race against her ribcage. Harry sat wide-eyed and pale, searching the paper as though he didn't trust his own reading abilities. "Bloody hell," he whispered finally, and Hermione had to lean forward to hear him. "Snape's alive."

Ginny and Ron both looked at him strangely, as though they hadn't heard correctly.

"What?"

Harry looked up with unreadable eyes. "Snape is alive," he clarified after several moments of silence, his voice unsteady.

There was a subsequent clatter of pans colliding mid-air and benches being ground along the kitchen floor as Ron pushed backward and stood up and Ginny simultaneously whirled around with wide, startled eyes. "Bullocks," said Ron in disbelief, though he eyed the _Prophet _warily when Harry did nothing further to elaborate. "That's - that's what it says in the _Prophet? _That Snape's alive?" And then he turned to Ginny, "What's the date today? Is it some kind of joke -- a sick joke?"

Ginny had rushed over to sit beside her husband. She looked up at Ron as she placed an unsteady hand on Harry's shoulder and said in exasperated tones, "It's not April Fools Day, Ron," she snapped, "as you very well know."

"Then what?" he asked, trying to lean his long body over the table to catch a glance at the paper. "It has to be some kind of rotten joke. We saw the greasy git die!"

Harry, only seeming to just hear the commotion of the others, shook his head slowly, his eyes still tracking the text on the front page. "No," he said in a quiet voice, his trembling hands shaking the pages as Ron desperately tried to read the headline, "no, it -- it says that he approached McGonagall yesterday at Howarts to ask about the Defense Against the Dark Arts post -- that he wants to teach again."

Ron, still on his feet, yanked at his ginger hair with one hand. "But...he hated teaching, didn't he? And how the ruddy hell is he alive? We all saw him die! Remember all the blood? And his eyes -- "

"Ron!" Ginny admonished, looking as though she might be sick. "Please, spare me the details." She turned to Harry, "Does it say anything about how he could have survived? Or better yet," she added practically, "has anyone of merit actually corroborated and vouched that they have seen him alive?"

Harry looked very much like a brick had slid down through his chest and into his stomach. His green eyes scanned further down the paper until he shook his head mutely. "McGonagall has," he said numbly. "It just says that he had been attacked by Nagini at the Battle of Hogwarts but that the details of his escape and survival are undetermined at this point."

Ron snorted ungraciously. "So he's just been in hiding then for, what? Seven years? I'm damned surprised Skeeter didn't make up her own version of where he's been after what she wrote about Hermione."

And then Harry's gaze flicked up at Hermione for the first time since he had taken the _Prophet_ into his hands, his green eyes enormous behind his massive prescription.

Pointing to the paper and only just managing to keep his voice steady, he said, "You _knew."_

Hermione blinked, trying to find her voice.

After an uncomfortable silence, Ron said awkwardly, "Come off it, Harry. She couldn't have known."

Hermione was silent. She could see the anger and betrayal swimming in Harry's eyes and felt a momentary flash of guilt. She had moved quickly over to the stove when Ginny had rushed toward Harry, stilling the clattering pots and pans while managing to salvage what was left of the bacon.

Harry turned the paper to her so she could fully read the headline, pointing again to Severus Snape's face with a shaky index finger, almost as though he didn't trust himself to speak. She looked down at it briefly, and then back up, and sighed deeply. She was, to Harry's horror, utterly unsurprised. "Yes, Harry," she managed. "I knew."

There were two subsequent gasps.

Ron looked over at her as though he had never seen her before, his mouth wide and gaping; Ginny's eyes widened dramatically as she covered her mouth with an unsteady hand, and Harry -- Harry's green eyes flashed dangerously from behind perfectly rounded spectacles.

Hermione felt herself take an unconscious step backwards.

"How -- " Ron started, but was cut off as Harry shot up from the bench. "Hermione," he ground out, trying for her sake to keep his anger in check. "You _knew_ Snape was alive and you didn't think that any of us might want to know about it?" he gestured to himself, "That _I _might want to know about it?"

She looked up at him with helpless affection. "Harry, I'm sorry. I truly am." She spread her arms out in front of her. "But it wasn't my secret to tell."

Harry looked as though she had stunned him. "_Yours to tell?_" he echoed, and there was a deranged glint in his green eyes. "I had a _right _to know, Hermione, and you _damn_ well know it!"

Hermione looked over at him, genuinely startled. Oh, she knew he would react with anger once he learned she had known about Severus' secret and hadn't told him; but she had dealt with an enraged Harry before. What caught her off guard and left her momentarily at a loss was the uncontrolled pent-up rage and, of all things, _betrayal_ reflecting in his eyes.

_Do you really think, Harry, I would ever betray you?_

She blinked. "Harry -- "

But he was already storming over to her with such force that the kitchen floor literally trembled beneath his feet. Like some primitive, instinctual reflex, she drew her wand, keenly aware that the relatively warm, temporary world she had lived in for the past several weeks was crumbling around her with each step that brought him closer.

For one frightening, absurd moment, she thought he might actually strike her.

"I had a _right _to know, Hermione!" Harry screamed again, pointing a finger at her in dire accusation. "The whole Wizarding world believes him dead but for you and you choose _not_ to tell me?" Never before that she seen him lose control like this; he looked rather demented. Ron immediately extricated himself from the bench and came to stand between the two. He gave Harry an odd look.

"Calm down, mate," Ron said with outstretched hands. "Go cool off a bit."

"I will _not_ calm down!" Harry snapped at Ron. "If anyone deserves to know about Snape, it's me! And you _both _damn well know it!"

Ginny, who had been pale and quiet on the opposite bench during the entire exchange, raised an eyebrow. "Harry, what are you talking -- "

But Hermione was coming from around Ron's tall form, her right hand still firmly wrapped around her wand. "Harry, if you'd just listen, I can explain -- "

"Listen to what, Hermione?" He paused and looked at her, looking for guilt, a hesitation, a handle. "That you went behind my back like some bloody Slytherin? I _trusted_ you and you lied to me!"

Looking back at him, brown eyes wide and half-shocked, Hermione felt very much like he _had_ hit her.

"You're a rotten bastard, you know that, Harry?" she choked, realizing with a small amount of shame that her eyes were filling with tears. "Does it mean _nothing_ to you that I gave the man my word? For _weeks_ this has been pressing on me, you great git! Weeks! What would my motive be to keep such a thing from you? What would I gain from that, Harry?"

Harry, too, had drawn his wand, though to do what, Hermione wasn't certain. His green eyes darkened. "I don't know, Hermione. You tell me. What _have_ you gained?"

Without thinking, Hermione raised her wand and started toward him, but Ron pulled her roughly to his side, trying to position himself between her and Harry. "Let go of me, Ron!" she shouted, but he didn't. Ron went so far as to wrestle the vinewood out of her clenched hand.

"Give that back to me, Ron!"

"Stop it!" Ginny cried, rushing over and pulling back on Harry's arm, who was moving toward both Ron and Hermione. "All of you, stop this right now!"

Harry in his anger looked more frightening than ever, his Auror's robes flowing down his body and demanding absolute authority. He raised his wand slowly, his blazing eyes seeing nothing in the room but Hermione.

"You're out of line, mate," Ron hollered as he struggled with Hermione, carefully positioning her so as to avoid being elbowed in the ribs. "Go out to the drawing room and cool off."

"Come with me, Harry," Ginny pleaded in a small voice, wrapping both hands around his elbow and tugging him backwards through the doorway. "Ron's right. Just come calm down for a bit."

Hermione felt strangely nauseous as she watched Ginny pull Harry away, her chest heaving with too-big breaths and she continued to struggle against Ron.

"Hermione," said Ron, once Harry and Ginny had disappeared through the doorway. He pinned both of her arms to her side. "Calm down, alright? It's over."

The silent kitchen seemed to hum with the shock of the recent scene. The _Daily Prophet_ was still lying on the table, Severus Snape's face scowling up at the ceiling with seemingly intense dislike. Ron still had a firm grip on each of Hermione's arms, his large hands holding her in place as she breathed heavily, refusing to meet his gaze.

Her voice was a slight bit calmer when she said, "Let me go, Ron."

He gave her a wry side-long smile, and the freckles near his eyes stretched slightly. "I'd be happy do that, love," he said in too cheerful tones, "but I'd prefer if you didn't kill Harry just now. He's my best mate and brother-in-law, you see. I'd be rather bored if he were dead."

She scowled and pulled back against his grip, furiously and futility. "_Ronald,_" -- and he knew her patience with him was spent -- "stop manhandling me this instant! How am I meant to kill Harry if you've stolen my wand away?" But his massive grip was still on either of her arms. She felt a childish desire to kick at him.

But he let her go, abruptly, in mutual grim silence.

And then there was a crash of something breaking in the drawing room. Jerking her head up, Hermione vaguely wondered which of Ginny's lamps Harry had destroyed in his tirade.

"Well," said Ron, in a dreadful attempt to lighten the mood, "that doesn't sound to me as though he's taken my advice to calm down."

Hermione _humphed_. "He's being absolutely ridiculous." She crossed her arms so tightly across her chest that Ron wondered if they would be stuck in a permanent knot. And then she began pacing the length of the kitchen with enough intensity to wear away the floorboards. Her arms, evidently, had found a way out of their knot, as they were waving wildly through the air. "He's acting as though I've betrayed our friendship," she said in disbelief, pausing briefly in front of Severus' picture, her brown eyes flicking down to him. "As if I had any choice in the matter! All I did was keep my word, Ron, and I'm not at all sorry for it!"

"I know, Hermione," said Ron. He had that neutral, careful, nonthreatening tone that one uses with the hysterical. "It's just a shock for him, is all." He scratched the back of his ginger hair. "For all of us, really."

And then, as if he couldn't help himself, he shook his head and walked over to the _Prophet_ and picked it up cautiously, as though it might actually bite him. "Blimey," he said with incredulity after a moment, "It's unbelievable, isn't it? Snape being alive?"

Hermione sighed, suddenly deflated. She slumped down on the kitchen bench, looking at the invisible dirt under her fingernails. She knew what her friends must be feeling. She had felt what it was like to have your paradigms rocked so fully that you could barely stand upright any longer. "Yeah," she muttered. "It is."

Ron continued to peruse the paper under suspicious eyes. "But there was so much blood," he mused aloud, sitting down next to her and turning a page. The bench bowed with his added weight. "I wonder how he survived." And then he asked hesitantly, looking down at her, "He didn't tell you, did he?"

Hermione shook her head, involuntarily recalling that horrible night and the dead look in Severus' eyes when she, too, had assumed he was dead. "No."

A crack shot though the air; they both jumped and turned to look at the wall behind them. Though Hermione's trained eye couldn't ascertain any damage on _this _side of the wall, she was quite confident the drawing room was now sporting a severely bruised drywall.

"I simply cannot believe he _still _refuses to control his temper," she scowled, her own anger flaring. She glared at the offending wall as though it might implode.

Ron shrugged indifferently. "Yeah, well, its a little close to home for him, isn't it?" He folded the paper and tossed it casually onto the table. "With Snape loving his Mum and all."

"Don't you think I know that?" she snapped, whirling on him. Her narrowed eyes searched his robes for where he could have stored her wand. "I'm not a fool, Ron! I understand perfectly well that this is all rather personal for Harry, but it still does not change the fact that I gave Severus my word," she fumed irritably, folding her arms. "He's acting as though I have some sort of personal vendetta against him. That this is some sort of betrayal." And then her face sunk as she bowed her head and almost whispered, "He... he thinks that I would betray him. After..._everything_."

Ron stood in the silence of the kitchen, pondering over his friend's use of Snape's first name. "Hermione," he said softly, when he took in the despair of her voice.

She looked up at him mutely, her arms now wrapped around her midsection. "How...how could he think that?"

He walked over to her then, wrapping her in a great hug. Hermione, for her part, merely stood there, her arms still wrapped around herself. "He doesn't mean it like that, Hermione. You know that. He's just upset, is all. He'll calm down in a bit. You'll see."

She nodded numbly against him, the top of her head only just reaching his chest.

"I think," she sub-vocalized after a moment, "I'm going to go."

"Okay," said Ron. He smiled down at her, but it didn't reach his eyes like it usually did. He was surprisingly silent, searching her face for something. Though she was, she realized, while looking up at him in silence, thrumming with tension.

"I'll walk you to the door."

Hermione followed numbly in Ron's wake, careful to avoid the drawing room. Looking down at her feet as they moved methodically over the floorboards, she didn't know _what_ to think. Harry's own reaction to what he perceived to be a betrayal by her, felt like a literal betrayal on his part. Had she not proved her loyalties to him from the time they were eleven? Hadn't _she_ been the one to save _his_ arse on more than one occasion? And wasn't it _she_ who practically dragged him through his studies to get, at the very least, acceptable grades so he could become an Auror?

Suddenly, she felt enraged. How _dare_ he accuse her of betrayal when she had been nothing but loyal to him for the past fourteen years. How _dare_ he question the validity of her word! She had sworn to him, once, to keep silent about Horcruxes, to put her faith blindly in him and step forward into something she hadn't planned for, that she didn't understand. How was her promise to Severus any different?

More than anything, she realized sadly, as she felt the tears stinging her eyes, it hurt.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, once they had reached the threshold. "You okay?"

She saw the distress in his face as she swallowed and said nothing.

And he must have seen the devastation in her eyes, too deeply stricken even for anger. So instead of answering him, she asked, "Can I have my wand?"

He blinked. "Hermione -- "

"_Ron_," she said, with a trembling intensity that pinned him to the threshold, "_give me my wand_."

He looked down at her in alarm, taken aback. But he reached into his Auror's robes anyway, pulling her vinewood from a secure pocket, and reached out to hand it to her. "Hermione," he said softly, gravely, rubbing the back of his neck, "Please don't think on it. You know Harry loves you -- , _yes_," he emphasized when he watched her roll her eyes, "he does. And you know him almost better than anyone. You _know_ he'll come around. And the great twat will apologize to you when he does."

Hermione was looking at her wand, running her fingertips shakily over the intricate carving of the shaft. Somewhere it registered in the back of her mind that what Ron was saying was true. Seven years ago, she thought with a small amount of trepidation, he never would have been this damned reasonable. _She_ had always been the reasonable one. She shook her head as she remembered hitting Rita Skeeter.

_At what point did our roles reverse?_

She sighed and turned to open the door, not wanting her every worry to rub off on poor Ron.

"Hermione," he said firmly, taking her hand as she pushed the door open. His blue eyes startled her with the depth of concern she saw there. "You're alright?" he asked. And then in an attempt to lighten the mood, he said with a small smile, leaning forward, "I could take the day off, you know. I have a _shocking_ amount of authority inside the Auror Department."

Hermione couldn't help it; in the tension of the early morning, she chuckled lightly, swatting at him with her free hand. "While that _is_ rather shocking, Ronald, I'd rather you didn't abuse your power on me."

He tilted his head to the side, and there was a shade of that old gleam in his eye. "You're sure about that? Harry will have to make up the slack..."

Hermione laughed out loud. "Go to work, Ron. I'll be fine. I need to get back to Hogwarts."

He stood there, watching her with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his robes as she skipped lightly down the front steps. "Hermione?" he asked with quiet sincerity, and she turned to look back at him. "How did you know? That Snape was alive, I mean."

She hesitated. In that moment, Severus' face flashed to the forefront of her mind and she felt a strange chill spread throughout her body. His sacrifice had, quite literally, touched her to her core. The determination in his dark eyes when he said he would leave all else behind, if only to offer what knowledge and experience he could to help the Order made her heart sink.

_Oh, Severus,_ she had wanted to say to him. _You know what they'll do to you now. That freedom and solitude you've so longed for will be all but impossible for the rest of your days._

For lack of a better word, it felt_...wrong_ to tell, well, _anything_ she had learned of Severus those past few months. He had placed his trust in her. And though the Wizarding world now knew his secret, it felt to her like an inexcusable betrayal to reveal anything of him.

"Ron," she said quietly, her hair moving with the morning breeze, "I don't think I can really talk about that."

His gaze held hers for several moments. At first, there was a flicker of disappointment, but then, she saw a dry twinkle and a look of incredulity on his freckled face. With his half-daffy grin, he turned to go back into Grimmauld Place.

000

Severus Snape stood completely still at the threshold of his old quarters.

His total disenchantment with interior design notwithstanding, Severus felt oddly out of place. Though his rooms at Hogwarts looked as much the same as could be expected, and while the headmistress assured him that no one else had occupied the space during his absence, he still managed to eye the entry room with a sweep of contempt. As bitter as the moment was, he eventually managed to take a step forward, trying not to take Minerva's appalling sense of design as some sort of punishment for not coming to her earlier with the truth. Pausing in front of a red tapestry on the west wall, he closed his eyes and reminded himself to not take it personally.

As it was, the last twenty-four hours had been some of the worst in his life.

And for Severus Snape, that was certainly saying something.

His meeting with Minerva had been doomed from the start. She, like Hermione, had assumed he was a Death Eater using Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself. And with the same maverick spirit he seemed to recall so well, she had fired off hexes at him like the raining wrath of God.

_And_ just like their last encounter seven years ago, she had very nearly disarmed him.

Once he had immobilized her enough to explain, after apologizing profusely at having to do so, there had been a curious gentleness in her gray eyes as she looked him over again -- though looking for what, he hadn't been certain. She appeared older to him than ever; worn, and stretched at the seams. He felt an involuntary flicker of anger toward the damnable Death Eaters who had tired her so. But he had managed to still himself enough, at least, to make his offer to her; and in a gesture of goodwill he would have never offered to anyone _but_ Minerva, he set his ebony wand purposefully on her desk and slowly backed away.

"If you require an Unbreakable Vow of me, Minerva," he had said quietly, "I will oblige to your request."

But she had merely shook her head at him incredulously, closing the distance between them to embrace him fiercely. "My boy," she had cried, the top of her silver hair just reaching his chest, "how I need you now, more than ever."

It was strange to be embraced so fully, to feel her wiry arms wrap around his neck as though she couldn't stand to ever let go. He had awkwardly brought his arms up to her back, patting her slightly until she released him, tears streaming down her sun-spotted face.

And then everything that followed went by in a complete blur.

Immediately they had gone to the Ministry; Minerva quite literally dragged him behind her with a firm grip on his wrist and demanded with the sort of authority only she could radiate to speak with Shacklebolt at once. His secretary had informed them that the Minister was busy and they would have to call again, though Severus caught the young woman watching him beneath particularly wary eyes. Unperturbed, the headmistress pressed the witch without hesitation, certain that whatever Kingsley was doing in that moment did not rival the magnitude of what she needed to discuss with him.

And so they were admitted.

And the rest of the day was a complete whirlwind of activity he would prefer to forget with the help of a strong bottle of fire whiskey. Sitting in rooms with steel and glass and windows that were too high, feeling like some Godforsaken test subject as they poked and prodded at him, asking the most personal and intimate details of his pathetically squandered life while under Veritaserum, Severus reluctantly answered each question they posed.

He felt humiliated. Seated in the shadow of a pillar, Auror after Auror, Ministry official after official -- they all came, questioning him like they would the foulest of criminals. When he hesitated, they would only press him further and harder -- pulling at the fibers of his already unraveling life.

And then they asked too much.

"And what, pray tell, Mr. Snape was your relationship to Lily Potter? The woman formerly known as Lily Evans?" A man called Hales asked.

Severus' dark gaze immediately turned to the Minster in dire accusation. "I fail to see how that is of _any_ importance as to what we are trying to ascertain here,_ Hales_."

Hales smirked tightly, twirling a quill between his thumb and forefinger. "Then perhaps you can tell us why Albus Dumbledore trusted you for all those years, when all the evidence seen here shows that he had no reason to do so," he said in a bored tone. "Obviously, we assume, he had a handle."

"Do you work for the _Prophet_, Hales?" Severus growled, his white knuckles gripping the sides of his chair, "Or the Ministry?"

"This is quite enough," a fifty-something wizard said firmly, coming around from behind him. "Mr. Snape's loyalty is not in question here. His name was cleared years ago, as you very well know, Hales."

Hales looked over at the wizard with a sweep of contempt. Clearly, he thought he was on the verge of something.

"Mr. Thorpe is quite right," Minerva piped in, though there was a sharp edge to her voice. "We are simply undergoing the necessary steps required to correct Severus' status amongst the dead." And then she eyed Hales firmly. "If there are any doubts on the matter, Mr. Hales, you are more than welcome to take it up with me."

Kingsley, hunched over an immaculate table with eyes scanning a rather worn looking parchment, cleared his throat. "That is enough for today, I think. Hales, Thorpe? I wish to speak with you both for a moment, if you please." And then his eyes met Severus with some amount of reservation. "That will be all, Severus. I expect to see you here in a month to go over a few additional legal issues."

Severus nodded grudgingly.

_Damnable Ministry._

"Mr. Snape?" The man called Thorpe asked as Severus stood to leave. "Could I have a word?"

Severus eyed the man with a calculating gaze. "The Unspeakables will be back with my wand in five minutes," he said flatly. "I intend to leave this edifice the moment they return."

Thorpe nodded in understanding. "My name is Lincoln Thorpe," he said sincerely, extending his hand, "there was a small matter I wished to discuss with you, if you don't mind?"

Severus took Thorpe's hand, motioning with his free arm for him to continue.

"I understand if this sounds a bit off to you," he said helplessly, rubbing the back of his neck, "but do you perchance know the name Hermione Granger?"

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Of course I know the name," he said carefully. "She was my student for six years."

Thorpe nodded. "Yes. Of course. I wondered if you could... that is, perhaps you would be so kind as to make contact with her before the _Daily Prophet _publishes your story. Let her know in advance that you are, indeed, amongst the living?"

Suspicious eyes narrowed further. "And just _why_, pray tell, would I extend such an invitation to Miss Granger?" His eyes flicked down to Thorpe's left hand where he noticed a gold ring on his fourth finger. He was mildly surprised by the anger in his voice when he said, "And I am certainly interested to know why a married man has such an interest in my former student."

Thorpe blanched, and there was a look of deep disgust on his face. "I can assure you, Mr. Snape, that my intentions toward Miss Hermione Granger are nothing but honorable. Please do not insult me my suggesting anything untoward."

Rubbing the side of his neck, Severus hissed with impatience, "Then have the courage to explain your sudden interest in Miss Granger, if you please."

Thorpe sighed, and the few lingering witches and wizards exited the room at last, casting curious glances behind them. "I ran into her at a book store some months back. She appeared... distraught. I'm not sure you are aware, but I was appointed as one of the lead Aurors to investigate her parents' case."

Severus sneered. "Are you perhaps wanting some sort of congratulations for this appointment? Though," he added caustically, straightening himself to look down at the wizard, "since I understand the case remains _unsolved_, I suppose you do _not_."

Thorpe frowned. "I simply assured her that her parents had not been forgotten and that the Auror Department was still exhausting resources to locate the Death Eaters responsible."

"Ah. And just what is it that you have found, Mr. Thorpe?" Severus asked dryly.

Thorpe looked surprised by the question. "Well, nothing concrete as of _yet_. I was only just ready to instigate -- "

"You will find nothing," Severus interrupted. "Death Eaters," he said with intense authority, as he straightened the cuffs of his sleeves, "_despite_ what your merry little group here at the Ministry believes, are not foolish. They are deliberate and careful. Now, I understand it has been some years since the murders?"

Thorpe nodded slowly.

"In that case, you will not find a single shred of evidence to help you."

Thorpe frowned. "There is always hope that -- "

"Delusions," Severus snapped. "However, I would be willing to assist you in that regard, Mr. Thorpe," he paused and eyed him significantly. "The Dark Lord may have fallen, but the war has not ended. You won't find a shred of evidence without me."

"You intend to pursue the Death Eaters responsible?"

He smirked unpleasantly. "To the very ends of the earth, Mr. Thorpe, if need be."

Something flitted over Thorpe's face as he nodded in understanding. With a final calculating glance, Severus made to walk away.

"She asked a favor of me," Thorpe called out. Severus checked himself but did not turn around, his black eyes fixed straight ahead. "She asked me to search for you. For your body," he clarified soberly. Thorpe let the words hang in the air ominously above them. Severus, without realizing what was happening, felt his heart clench.

"That woman has compassion unlike anything I have heard of, Mr. Snape. The least you can do, I think, would be to inform her before all hell breaks loose that you're alive."

Walking past him, Thorpe swept out the door and disappeared into the never ending corridors of the Ministry.

And so Severus was in an agitated mood when he had finally given in and seated himself on the sofa next to his hearth, eying the empty liquor cabinet with a sweep of contempt.

And then he heard a quiet rapping on the entrance door to his quarters.

_Go away Minerva,_ he thought vehemently. _Have the restraint to give me a brief moment's peace._

For several moments he sat perfectly still but for the wand twirling between his long fingers.

Another rap on the door.

"_Dammit,_" he cursed under his breath, standing and sweeping toward the threshold with an angry retort on his tongue.

"Minerva," he spat, flinging the heavy door open, "Kindly have the -- "

But the comment died on his lips as he stared down at a pale and quiet Hermione Granger. An awkward second passed, and then another. At last Severus cleared his throat and said, "How did you find these rooms?"

Hermione bit hew lower lip and her eyes shifted toward the floor, clearly embarrassed. "Erm..., I asked Minerva."

Black eyes found brown and held them.

"I see," said Severus, though the tone in his voice indicated he was not at all pleased. "What do you want?"

Her face looked crestfallen. "To -- to see, er, that is, I just wanted to see how everything went today at the Ministry."

_Meddling Gryffindors._

"It went as well as to be expected, Hermione," he said coldly.

"Oh." She nodded once. "Of course. I'll just -- I'll leave you, then."

And then she turned and hurried back through the long, dark corridor.

Still blocking the entryway, her brisk footfalls echoing back at him like a _Tale Tale Heart, _Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. With _any_ other he would have felt a small flicker of triumph at sending an unwanted visitor away, some small amount of pleasure at their nervous retreat.

But Hermione Granger was different.

How -- he still wasn't completely certain. But whatever had transpired between them during the past few months had left him feeling profoundly out of his depth. He was indebted to her, he knew, for keeping his secret. _Though,_ his mind argued loudly, _she wouldn't have had to bear that burden if she merely would have looked where she was going and avoided the ravine altogether. _

He sighed. Enough pondering and heaviness. What was done, was done. There was nothing, save a Time Turner and a great deal of unwanted paperwork covering the necessary legalities, that would change what had passed.

And then there was the issue of her parents.

Murdered. Tortured, apparently; for the sole reason that they represented something different from what the Death Eaters knew and understood. He felt an unexpected stab of guilt as he thought of them. As Head of Slytherin House, he took very little interest in the home life of students outside his own House. Subsequently, he had never met the Grangers. He wondered if Mrs. Granger had had wild hair and freckles like her daughter. Perhaps Mr. Granger had soft brown eyes. He didn't know. He had never met them.

And that was where the guilt kicked in.

If he had come out of hiding sooner, would he have been able to do something more to protect them? He wouldn't have known about the attack beforehand, true enough, but could his knowledge have helped where the Aurors had failed in tracking down the culprits? Before the trail turned dead and cold?

Of course it would have.

And he felt sick about it.

And this poor, broken, woman was still looking for closure.

"Hermione," he called out into the dark corridor, his voice echoing off the walls, "Hermione, please, I wish to speak with you."

He heard the faint resonance of her footsteps come up short. And then, after several seconds of silence, he heard them resume again -- though at a much slower pace -- in his direction. He waited quietly in the darkness, the torches on the walls crackling through the empty space. At last she rounded the bend. Her pale face looked uncertain as it came into the light of the torch, but she held her head high, looking at him directly under a furrowed brow.

"Is...is there something I can help you with?"

He sighed. "No, Hermione. I was...unnecessarily harsh with you. Please," and he stepped aside to allow her entry, "come in and I shall make us some tea."

She looked hesitant for a moment, but then smiled softly as she squeezed past him through the threshold. There in the sudden silence she looked around, curiously, at the den and the sitting room, and the doorways the presumably led off to his bedroom or the bath. Her gaze immediately caught the wide windows to her left that viewed the Hogwarts grounds from floor to ceiling. Eventually she remembered herself and looked back up at him, the faintest flicker of embarrassment over her face.

"I must say," she mused aloud, stepping toward the table that fronted a comfortable looking couch, "the red and gold tapestries are something of a surprise." And then she added before she could help it, "I never knew you were such an advocate of Gryffindor, Severus."

Severus scowled and motioned for her to take a seat, mentally noting that no one _ever_ made free to tease him. "Minerva's sense of humor is appallingly bad."

Seating herself on the couch and adjusting the skirts of her robes, she chuckled, "Oh, I don't know. I'd say they look rather fetching."

He gave her a warning glance, one that brooked no argument, and then conjured two cups of steaming liquid. Reaching out to hand her a teacup, he saw for the first time that day how she looked as beaten down, as sad and weary, as any woman could look without changing her single expression.

Frowning down at her, he asked, "What is wrong?"

She chuckled ruefully, taking the teacup from him and placing it unsteadily on her lap, "Shouldn't _I_ be the one asking _you_ that question?"

He came over and sat down across from her. His normal mask of indifference was absent as he gave her an odd look.

"You were the one that had to deal with the Ministry today," she clarified, staring down at the amber liquid, "You don't need to concern yourself with _my _every worry."

A sudden darkness flitted over his face at the mention of the Ministry. He stilled it quickly, looking back over to her. "Hermione," he said with some discomfort, "While I am certainly not one to coddle over the everyday trifles of my former students, I do not believe you to be a woman who finds herself easily upset. If there is something amiss, you have my confidence, such as it is."

She looked up at him, startled but grateful. "Thank you," she said quietly, clutching her teacup with white knuckles. And then her eyes dropped to the floor and she said quickly, without looking up, "I was with Harry this morning when he got the _Prophet_."

Severus blinked. It occurred to him now that she looked much older than her twenty-five years. Against his will -- would he _ever_ be able to escape the bloody Potter family? -- he felt sorry for her, without being entirely certain why.

"I knew he'd be upset with me when he found out I knew about you," she was saying in a rush, "almost, I _expected_ it of him." She sighed and set her tea on the table, rubbing her eyes wearily. "What I didn't expect was for him to think that I'd betrayed him. Or," she added as an afterthought, "that he'd want to hex me."

Severus' head snapped up and his black eyes flashed. "He did _what?_"

She regarded him abruptly, somewhat taken aback by his outburst. "He didn't _actually_ hex me," she clarified quickly, when she took in his murderous gaze, "but if Ron hadn't been there to calm him down," she shook her head and wrung her hands together, "I'm not sure_ what_ would have happened."

"Of all the asinine things -- " Severus started, and he stood and began to pace in front of the fireplace.

"He didn't _do_ anything," Hermione said in Harry's defense, though she wondered in that moment _why_ she was defending him, "He's just...immature about some things, is all," she admitted reluctantly.

"Immaturity does _not_ excuse his actions," Severus said darkly, pausing to look down at her. "You would not want to be on the receiving end of one of Potter's curses, Hermione," he said with some amount of asperity, "Or do you not recall what happened to Draco Malfoy during your sixth year?"

She sighed internally. Of course she remembered. According to Harry, it had been a blood bath.

"No, I...well, I remember," she said in a small voice.

He turned and looked down at her, his face solemn. "You will tell me what happened," he said levelly.

She was silent -- no doubt reviewing the scene in her mind. A moment later she rested her head between either of her hands, palms gingerly massaging her temples. "I was over for breakfast," she said quietly. "Ron and I occasionally go to visit before he and Harry have to leave for the Ministry. Kobic -- Harry's owl -- dropped off the _Prophet_ just as we were sitting down to eat."

She paused. Her head hurt and her body ached like it had for a week, as if it had forgotten how to heal. "As soon as he read the article, he turned to me," she said miserably. "He knew that I had known about you."

He grimaced unhappily. It was because of _him_ that the forever moronic Potter had tried to hex her. "He could not have known," Severus said, though slightly uncertainly. "Unless," he added, and he _felt_ his voice darken, "you told someone."

"No!" Hermione cried, looking up at him with wide eyes that were shocked and half-afraid. "No, Severus, I didn't tell a soul, I swear it!"

Oh, he was certain she hadn't. Hermione Granger was not someone who hid her emotions. And_ more_ than that, she was a horrible liar. Oddly, though, he still wanted to hear the exclamation from her own lips.

"Then what, pray tell, would have made him suspect you?" he pressed, coming around again to sit across from her. "Potter, as I recall, was always pathetically unobservant."

She was not looking at him. She didn't appear to be looking at anything. But after several moments of fidgeting with her hands, she reluctantly met his gaze. "Well, I..., that is, before I knew you were alive -- back when I thought your body was still missing, I kept...pressing Harry to petition the Aurors to do something. _Anything._" She leaned back on her hands behind her and looked away from him. "I...it wasn't fair you didn't have a proper burial."

Severus looked over at her, at this selfless gentle-hearted woman and felt a strange sense of smallness as his eyes searched over her. He thought of Thorpe and what he had told him at the Ministry. "Anyway," she was hurrying on, "obviously after I knew you were alive, I didn't press him further. While I think he knew _something_ was off with me, he didn't speak directly to me about it," she chuckled ruefully, "I think Ron told him to leave me alone, already."

"Ah. So it appears Mr. Weasley _does_, in fact, have some shred of sense about him."

"Don't say that," Hermione countered, her voice firm. "Ron may not have been the best student, but when he applies himself, he's rather intelligent."

"Of course," Severus responded with an air of indifference. It would not do to argue with her over Weasley's dreadful marks. And then he prompted when she remained silent, "You were saying?"

"Oh," she shook her head. "Right. Well, Harry accused me of... betraying him, that if anyone had a right to know you were alive, he did."

"Bloody self-righteous fool," Severus cursed, straightening the white cuffs of his sleeves, "_Naturally_ the brat would assume he would need to be the first to know about _anything_," he sneered, "That the _Prophet_ should sound concourses of trumpets at his feet with the most flippant of stories."

She managed to nod slightly, and he was suddenly certain she wasn't listening.

"Hermione?"

She didn't look up at him, her brown eyes dull as they stared into her teacup.

"Hermione!"

She blinked quickly and then focused on him.

"I...yes?"

He frowned at her. "Could you not hear me?"

She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, "Oh, sorry, sir. I suppose my mind wandered."

_Sir?_

Severus stared at her as though he had never seen her before. Hermione Granger's mind wandering was certainly unprecedented. It was her _admittance_ to such a travesty, however, that left him feeling rather disconcerted. Strange that he needed to know what was troubling her. But he felt it. Like a quiet nagging in the back of his mind that demanded not to be ignored.

"You will tell me what is troubling you, Hermione," he said, sitting erect so as to fully draw strength from his full height. If intimidation was the only way to get it out of her, so be it.

"I haven't been sleeping well," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Be that as it may," he said smoothly, "I wish to discuss the situation of Potter." And then he added, "I am confident Poppy would not find it too taxing to offer you a Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"Oh, of course."

She stared dully ahead, and there were no words for the sudden emptiness that radiated from her eyes. He could read very little from it, but a thing, a sense of wrongness was there.

"Hermione?" Severus asked again, leaning forward slightly.

Looking up at him, brown eyes bright and vulnerable, she said helplessly, "After..._everything_ I've been through with him -- with Harry, he...he thinks that I would betray him."

_Oh._

He felt his ears prick as he heard the strain under the familiar gentleness of her voice. _Damn Potter and damn the entire family_, he thought vehemently. Would he ever be truly free from the brat? It seemed that whatever he did to distance himself mattered very little; the fates and the universe always managed to throw Potter ever emphatically back into his life. Again he felt an unexpected churn of pity for her. Ah, how had it come to this? How had it fallen to him to comfort this broken, weary woman from the likes of Potter?

"I do not think," he said very softly, grimacing at his own sentimentality, "that he would intentionally cause you anguish, Hermione."

She shook her head, only half listening. "You didn't see his face," she said miserably, "I may as well have put his head on a spit and given it to Voldemort."

_"Do-not-use-his-name!"_

She blanched, her face twisting horribly. "I'm s-sorry," she stammered, "I forget that you...that you don't like his name."

"It is not a matter of merely liking or disliking a name," he ground out, feeling his temple pound. "It is what it _represents_."

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, looking down at her hands.

It was several moments before he spoke again.

"Hermione," his voice sounded oddly strangled. "I am not privy to an in-depth discussion of the Dark Lord's name at this moment. _However_," and he stole his hand up to massage his aching neck, "I must know if, that is, you _will_ tell me if Potter assaulted you in some way." And then he added darkly, "If I extract the information from you by using Legilimency, so be it."

Hermione didn't speak for a long moment. She heard Severus breathing, felt the awful tension of the room. Physically, Harry hadn't touched her, though she was oddly unsure of _what_ he would have done if Ron hadn't been there. She had never seen him look so deranged -- so mad with anger.

And so she answered in a quiet voice, "No, he didn't hurt me."

_Physically, anyway._

When she looked up, she felt more than saw the relief in his posture. Wanting a chance in subject more than anything, she asked somewhat half-heartedly, "So, what happened at the Ministry?"

For a moment she thought he wasn't going to answer her, but then he sighed deeply, running a hand through his jet black hair. "They saw and heard what they wanted to."

She scowled, and some of the life in her eyes returned. "Politicians," she cursed. "Too damn blind by their own pride to see the truth."

Severus quirked an eyebrow, both amused and surprised. "And what truth is that, Hermione?"

"That," she hesitated, summoning what he could only assume was her Gryffindor courage, "that you are... profoundly, unflinchingly generous. You defend the innocent at any cost. _And _that you just sacrificed a life of peace and solitude to return to," she waved her hands in the air, searching for an appropriate word, "to this _madness _to fight for what's right. That you've brave beyond words... well, beyond all reason, really. And -- "

"Hermione," Severus interrupted, and there was a tone of warning in his voice, "that is quite enough."

"Oh, sorry," she blushed, looking to her lap. "I tend to get carried away."

He nodded, though he felt his own blood rushing to his cheeks. And then he looked momentarily serious again, looking at her steadily. "Your praise is greatly exaggerated," he paused, looking pensive, "though I have never been one to accept it gracefully."

Hermione laughed easily. "Nor I." Then she smiled a little. "We're quite the pair, you and I, aren't we?"

Her words touched him like a finger on a pool of water, the contact at a point rippling through the whole. He cleared his throat. "I daresay we are."

He stared over at her, realizing how much he had dropped character with her since she had come into his life. If he was being honest with himself, he knew she had been penetrating it ever since he had asked her to be a runner, when she began to make free to tease him. Some new balance had to be found, he was certain. But since he had rescued her that night in the ravine, this new half-freedom had been nearly intoxicating; when she accepted his poor bits of truth about his survival, and asked for nothing more.

Initially, it surprised him. He kept waiting for her to badger him into a confession of how he had survived and the truth behind his seclusion.

But it never happened.

And being able to talk with her plainly, wrestling with that sharp and keen mind was unlike anything he had ever done before. He found, oddly, that he quite _enjoyed_ their conversations.

Leaning back against the couch, he realized the sunlight on their teacups was orange and angled low across the coffee table from the bright, wide, windows that viewed across the grounds to the Forbidden Forest. He raised his head.

"I should be going," Hermione said, as though reading his mind. She stood and brushed her robes down. "Thank you for the tea, Severus."

He nodded once, escorting her to the threshold. Without thinking, he offered her a small smile. "I bid you good evening, Hermione."

She returned the gesture, her perfect teeth shinning behind full lips. "Good night, Severus."

He sat looking at the door for a few minutes after she left. Sighing deeply, he turned back to the fireplace to grab a handful of Floo Powder. In years past, Minerva McGonagall had been known to have a seemingly never ending whiskey cabinet at her disposal. Tossing the powder into the hearth, he sincerely hoped her habits had not changed as of late.

His last conscience thought as he stepped into the green flames was that with the profound changes of the last twenty-four hours, he suddenly felt way in over his head.

* * *

_A/N: First off, I have to thank everyone for the encouraging reviews for the last chapter. You're all lovely. This chapter felt a bit like a filler chapter for me - though I felt the information was necessary. Hopefully it wasn't too slow moving to keep the interest there. I'm not a Harry basher, per se, despite what this chapter might lead you to believe. Don't worry, Harry and Sev will have their moment together to reconcile...etc. Next up will be more HG/SS interaction as school begins. Again, any thoughts on the plot and the character development would be extremely appreciated. Thanks for all the support so far! _


	8. Chapter 8

_"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... it has no survival value, rather, it is one of those things that gives value to survival."_

- C.S. Lewis

* * *

Chapter 8

* * *

The first time Hermione thought she was going to kill Harry Potter with her bare hands, he wasn't even present. By the end of the week, it was the last thing on her mind.

The day had begun with promise. Sunny and warm, classes had already been in session for a week. Hermione had meticulously sorted through her curriculum by grade level, had her O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T. outlines set for the year, and had assigned her first years to write a foot of parchment on Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. Thus far, no student in her seventh year Gryffindor/Slytherin class had yet tried to kill one another, which she felt was a hopeful sign.

She had discovered during her first year of teaching that her greatest knack and joy was with her first year students. Often uncertain and shy, watching their eyes light up in comprehension and the unrequited elation on their small faces when they successfully completed a spell was like Christmas morning. Oh, the older students certainly had their perks; they could reason and debate and she generally didn't have to babysit, but it was those just learning how to harness their magic that brought her the greatest satisfaction.

She had also discovered during her first week back teaching that despite her obvious attempts to seek the Defense professor out, she rarely saw Severus. Between office hours and preparing for the next day's lesson, she generally only caught him in the Great Hall at meal times; and even then, he wasn't always present. The older students were certainly suspicious of him, _most_ especially those in Gryffindor and Slytherin House; but Minerva had given a rather pretty speech at the Sorting Ceremony that seemed to stay the horror stories that the students might have heard from their siblings -- _or_ parents.

At the very least, it halted a mass exodus of screaming students from the school.

But from what Hermione had heard thus far from her students, aside from being completely terrified of the man, most seemed to quite enjoy Defense Against the Dark Arts.

When she asked Susan Miles, one of her fifth year Ravenclaws, how her courses were progressing, she informed Hermione that the Defense professor was, "Scary, but brilliant."

Hermione had smiled at that, thinking it a rather apt description.

As it was, she found herself inordinately annoyed when she walked from her bath into the sitting room to see Kobic perched on her favorite chair.

She recognized the black owl immediately and checked herself and stood there for a moment. Enormous eyes looked up at her indifferently, lifting one talon so she could see a small parchment fastened firmly to a feathered leg.

"I don't want that," Hermione said finally, though she patted the owl kindly on the head. "You can just take it straight back to Harry."

Unperturbed, the owl lifted his leg again, turning his head almost completely around. Hermione frowned, eying the bird with a blank expression.

This was Harry's first attempt to speak with her since his explosion in Grimmauld Place some weeks earlier. She was certain it was a letter apologizing for his rash behavior, for his cutting remarks. She was equally certain that every ink-blotted word was absolutely and completely sincere. But she didn't like the precedent. Act first, think later; that was Harry's general motto for life.

_Of course_ she would forgive him. She loved him like a brother, like her own flesh and blood. But she wasn't ready to reconcile -- not just yet. His remarks had hurt, like some unexpected contact with the most tender parts of her soul.

"I'm not going to read it," Hermione said again. "If you go to the Owlery, I'll come see you after my meeting and give you a treat for the journey back."

At this, the owl seemed rather annoyed. Ruffling his feathers, Kobic flew from Hermione's leather chair to her exposed forearm, digging his talons into her skin as he perched himself there with beating wings.

"Ow! Get _off_, you blasted bird!"

But he only clung on harder, going so far as to nip Hermione at the delicate skin between thumb and index finger.

"GET OFF!" she cried, shoving the bird hard in his hollow chest to get him to let go. Kobic flew back to the chair, kneading his talons into the expensive leather while appearing rather smug.

"Ouch," she hissed, drawing her arm close to her chest and looking down at several angry red marks on her white skin. There was a somewhat serious gash to the left of her thumb where he had gone so far as to bite her. Reaching for her wand, she suddenly froze, remembering the time.

"_Dammit_," she cursed, frantically gathering her satchel. Her weekly Saturday morning staff meeting in the Headmistress's office was meant to be getting underway at that very moment. Unable to attend to her wounds without making herself any later than she already was, she heaved the door to her quarters open, only just retaining the presence of mind to reset the wards, and half-walked, half-ran through the tower.

000

Severus' headache was definitely growing worse. Grumpily, he seated himself next to Pomona, who was smiling at him unabashedly.

"Good morning, Severus," she said brightly. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

He grunted something in reply, seated himself, and then scooted as far away from her as was physically possible. The Hogwart's staff, ironically, had gone from being completely terrified of him to practically groveling at his feet in the course of a mere afternoon.

_Pathetic._

Severus' eyes narrowed as he scanned the round table. Cuthbert Binns was looking around a little aimlessly; Filius was smiling stupidly at something Hagrid whispered to him --_ if_ the giant's bellowing voice _could, _in fact, be considered a whisper. Aurora and Horace were both sauntering in, speaking amiably with one another; Sibyll was looking at some nondescript point in space, speaking to herself as she did so; eyes wide and herculean behind her massive prescription.

And then Septima and Minerva walked in, followed by the blundering fool Oliver Wood. Severus' eyes narrowed further when Hermione did not follow up the staircase.

_Curious._

To his recollection, the girl had never been late to any sort of appointment or meeting in the entire course of her life. As his student, it was one of her many traits that infuriated him to no end. (Gryffindors, in general, made it rather easy to deduct House Points.) He racked his brain. The few detentions she _had_ served with him found her outside his classroom before even _he_ arrived. Looking around at the chatting professors, he wondered what was keeping her. Minerva, for her part, did not appear too perturbed that her former star pupil had not yet arrived.

"Alright, simmer down," Minerva said, standing slowly and sorting her papers as the rest of the staff found their seats. "We have much to discuss and less time to do it. I would prefer if we begin immediately."

Hagrid, his matted beard dangling into a cup of pumpkin juice, asked rather loudly as he shot his massive arm into the air -- very nearly knocking Filius to the ground, "Pardon there, Headmistress, but where's 'Ermione? Best to wait fer her, don't yeh think?"

As Filius looked at the half-giant warily, scooting his chair as best he could in the opposite direction of huge man, Minerva looked up and scanned the room behind perfectly placed spectacles. Although she was silent, Severus took in the subtle nuances of her face and saw it tight with worry.

"Perhaps she slept in," Wood supplied stupidly, adjusting his robes.

"I think not," Septima reasoned. "That certainly doesn't sound like her."

Minerva nodded her agreement. "No," her jaw tightened, "no, it does not."

It was at that very moment, however, that Severus recognized her footsteps climbing the gargoyle stairs from one floor down. He fought a valiant internal battle of self-discipline to keep his eyes averted from the doorway, dipping his quill meticulously into his ink pot and wiping the excess liquid on the round lid as she swept by him and dropped her satchel on the table just to his left.

"Ah, Hermione," said Minerva disapprovingly, "Better late than never, I see."

He allowed himself to look up at her then, making certain his face was as phlegmatic as ever, and saw her blush furiously as she seated herself beside him in the only remaining open seat.

"I apologize, Headmistress."

He had sighed internally, disturbed that her momentary absence unnerved him. In his peripheral vision he saw her fumble through her satchel, quickly extricating her quill and ink pot to take notes.

Minerva started down her usual rounds of business and necessary points of pending issues; Hogsmede weekends and the like. But for the majority of the meeting, Severus found his attention wandering to the complexing enigma that sat a mere foot away from him. He could smell her from this close proximity, a mixture of some floral aroma and vanilla. Distinctively feminine. With eyes focused straight at the Headmistress, half-listening as Minerva issued patrolling schedules, he attempted to study the woman next to him.

She seemed horribly uncomfortable, fidgeting and shifting on her chair every few seconds, and then moving and shifting again. A moment later she took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He wondered, absurdly, if she were fighting back tears.

_Surely she can't be inordinately upset about being tardy to the meeting._

A sense of wrongness assaulted him like a cold finger on the back of his neck. He frowned, fighting the urge to not stare at her directly.

_And what would you say, Severus, when she caught you ogling her?_

But again he chanced a glance in her direction; it appeared she was visibly struggling not to speak, gripping one armrest so as if to fully keep herself seated. She was keeping it together. But barely.

"Oliver," Minerva was saying firmly, her intense gaze honed in on Wood like a hawk, "I want to make myself perfectly clear when I speak of the _complete _supervision of first-years during flying lessons. Disclosures and liability wavers aside, you are _not_ to take your eyes off them for _one_ second. I will _not_ have my students injured due to ignorance on the staff's part. Am I understood?"

As the newest professor at Hogwarts, Wood nodded obediently, leaning back on his chair as though without a care in the world. Severus narrowed his eyes at him. It was annoyingly _Potteresque_.

"Perfectly, Headmistress," said Wood, swiveling back further in his chair. "There are a few first-years perhaps talented enough to be considered for their House teams. I'll be recommending their names to the current House captains."

_Bloody Quidditch._

Minerva turned to Pomona. "And how is Mr. Longbottom's internship coming?"

As the Hufflepuff Head of House launched into a disgusting appraisal of Longbottom's _'_skills_'_ and prowess with Herbology, Severus again became distracted by the woman sitting beside him. With the perfect clarity of his peripheral vision, he saw her gingerly roll up the emerald sleeve of her forearm and draw said appendage close to her chest as she flexed her fingers repeatedly. Before he could stop himself, he was looking over at her fully.

"Merlin's beard, woman," he murmured, horrified, when he saw the angry red marks on her arm and the gash between her thumb and index finger.

Though no one else seemed to have heard his exclamation, Hermione immediately turned away from him, pulling her sleeve hastily down. "It's nothing," she whispered quickly, hiding her arm under the table.

Before Severus fully realized what he was about, he was reaching _across_ her to try to snatch her arm. "Do _not_ play ignorant," he hissed quietly, "What did you -- "

"Severus? Hermione?" Minerva asked perplexedly. By the tone of her voice, it was obvious she had just witnessed Severus struggle to reach over Hermione's lap in an arguably inappropriate manner. From across the table, Oliver Wood watched the disturbance closely.

"Is there something that demands your attention elsewhere at present? Or, pray, am I free to continue with our meeting?"

Hermione looked up, absolutely mortified.

"Of course, Minerva," Severus drawled, allowing sarcasm to mask his discomfort at her observance. But he stood quickly, banishing his things with a deft flick of his wand as he reached to pull a startled Hermione up with him.

"Professor Granger and I were happily passing notes to one another," he sneered.

"_Severus_," said Minerva warningly.

The other staff members watched the scene as they might a tennis match, gazes flicking somewhat nervously between Severus and the Headmistress, as curious about the scene as Minerva's Animagus form might be. And then Severus rolled his shoulders back, and his tone was serious when he said, "I do apologize for my manner; _however_, there is something quite pressing Professor Granger must attend to this very instant. I kindly beg your leave, Headmistress."

After scanning the room anxiously, _keenly_ aware of the eyes that were currently scrutinizing her, Hermione looked up at the Defense professor, completely baffled. Slowly, she followed his gaze to Minerva, who was regarding the pair of them with equal confusion.

"Severus, I find it nothing short of preposterous that the both of you cannot remain in this meeting until -- "

"Minerva," Severus said, and his lip twisted unpleasantly. Hermione looked up at him again. If she had not come to spend so much time in his presence during the summer, she likely would have missed the subtle plea in his voice.

It occurred to Hermione, the next moment, that the tone was not lost on Minerva. No doubt the older woman knew Severus far better than she could ever hope to. It was an unbelievable moment. To the rest of the staff, most likely, because Professor Severus Snape was willingly interacting with another human being, and of _all_ things, giving her an out. And to Minerva because, Hermione realized, she had never witnessed him assisting a Gryffindor -- and a know-it-all, to boot.

After an awkward silence, the Headmistress fixed him with a strange, intense look. Hermione, in her embarrassment at being on display in front of the entire Hogwarts' staff, interpreted the gesture to be something along the lines of, _You _will_ explain this to me later, Severus,_ and then the witch inclined her head, allowing their leave.

Before Hermione knew what Severus was fully about, she felt herself being yanked by her uninjured wrist from the Headmistress's office without having the chance to gather her things. With their footsteps echoing down the spiral staircase, very nearly tripping over her own feet, Hermione's much abused dignity protested every step.

"They're only _scratches_," she stage-whispered as they quickly descended, and the annoyance in her voice was tantamount, "you didn't need to pull me from the meeting! I was planning on seeing Poppy straightaway -- "

"Indeed?" Severus sneered, not bothering to turn around to look at her fully. "And pray, do you assume Minerva enjoys her professors' blood as an additional decoration to her table?"

"Something easily cleaned by a spell!"

To her dismay, he ignored her, pulling her hastily through a long hallway in the direction of the Room of Requirement.

Hermione gave herself one moment to scream internally, and then pulled it together. Silently, she fretted that Severus was beginning to take it upon himself to watch over her as some sort of charity case; a notion _very _much unneeded and unwanted.

"Severus," she tried again, calming her voice as they rounded a bend and she tugged back against his grip slightly, "Please, I'm fine. _Truly_. I'll just nip over to the Hospital Wing -- "

"Shh," he interrupted, only then just whirling around to look down at her.

Hermione took a deep breath, to tell him to let her go already, that she didn't need to be manhandled. But then his black eyes focused down on her intensely.

And Hermione stared up at him, suddenly keen on remaining silent.

She felt her heart pound and her mind went black with confusion, while her feminist sensibilities cringed in embarrassment. Severus Snape, she had long ago reluctantly admitted to herself, had the same effect on her he had on everyone else: awe, a sense of smallness, and the eerie conviction that he knew more about you then he let on.

_And_ the urge to either fall silent or babble uncontrollably.

She had felt, up until the very moment, at least, that their interactions throughout the summer had somewhat diminished said feelings. But looking up at his shock of black hair and the dark eyes shadowed beneath it, she suddenly felt as though she had been gravely mistaken.

The feeling was utterly distressing. And so she focused her energy to force herself to act like an adult --_ ideally, a professor --_ and not some timid first-year.

But she couldn't read his expression -- _when could she ever_? She wanted to drop through the floor. She wanted to be... _anywhere_ but there.

She was just opening her mouth to speak when she heard the shuttering of a great wall from behind Severus, and then realized they had stopped in front of the Room of Requirement. The stone wall burst inwards and dust momentarily clouded the air. No one, apparently, had used the room in quite some time. It was all the same to Hermione; she didn't have particularly fond feelings of the last time she had been inside.

_Fiendfyre and Draco Malfoy? Fond feelings, indeed._

"Severus -- "

He grabbed her wrist again, pulling her behind him through the archway. She nearly tripped twice, such was the volume of his robes behind him. Side-stepping their folds, she looked around curiously as he at last released her. The Room looked like a little make-shift hospital, fit with a twin bed and white linen sheets, as well as several shelves fully stocked with what Hermione could only assume were basic medicinal potions.

"You will please roll up your sleeve."

She looked up at him blankly. "I -- what?"

"I apologize," he said with false politeness, rolling up his own sleeves and procuring his wand from his robes, "I was unaware that I made an inordinately difficult request."

Hermione scowled. "No, I understood the question. I just -- "

"-- What you are telling me, then," he interrupted, gracefully buttoning his sleeves at his forearms, "is that you have developed a selective sense of hearing?"

Her frown grew deeper, and she replied with as much dignity as she could, "Your request startled me, is all. I don't understand why this couldn't wait for Poppy and why in _Merlin's_ name we had to practically run out of the staff meeting. I didn't even get to hear my schedule for patrolling rounds!" Her face adopted a look of utter horror. "Did you see the look on Oliver's face?"

He snorted contemptuously, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves at his elbows. "No, and nor did I care to. If Wood's eye in one you are trying to catch, all that is required of you is to sit on a broom."

She looked aghast. "O-Oliver?" she sputtered and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "I, _no_, I certainly have _no _interest in Oliver Wood," she insisted emphatically.

He watched her carefully, regarding her beneath hooded eyes.

At length, she muttered, "I can't even _stand_ Quidditch."

At this, his lips quirked upward. "I find that somewhat difficult to believe, seeing as your companions at school thought of little else -- their essays notwithstanding."

She looked up and gave him a wicked smile. "Why do you think I spent so much time in the library?"

He raised a dark brow, and there was a slight smile in his eyes. "A wise decision, perhaps."

Hermione nodded, the knowing smile still on her lips. "Perhaps," she conceded. And then she asked, somewhat surprised, "Do you not like Quidditch?" She tilted her head to the side, thinking. "I always remember seeing you at the matches when I was a student."

He walked to one of the shelves and began scanning the contents, running his long fingers over the little labels. Absentmindedly, he brought his free hand to his neck and rubbed it generously. "I have no such compunctions to be a star-struck buffoon over the sport as so many are, but I do not detest it as it seems you do. _And_," he added silkily, "professors are encouraged to attend House games when able, as you should very well know."

Hermione thought back to her first year of teaching and the House Quidditch games. Without Harry or Ron to watch for, she found the sport to be dreadfully dull. With the exception of the Hufflepuff/Slytherin match where she had to, quite literally, dive out of her seat to avoid being hit by the Snitch, she found her attention wandering about like those poor people in the book of Exodus. At one match she was certain Minerva had caught her reading a book she had surreptitiously concealed within her warm traveling cloak, but the Headmistress had turned her head. Minerva McGonagall never broke any rules, though she was sometimes a bit selective about enforcing them -- _though_, to be _fair_, Hermione had never once read anything in _Hogwarts: A History _that stated professors couldn't have any sort of reading material if they found the matches painfully boring.

She supposed it was something more along the lines of House unity.

With Severus' broad back to her, his black frock coat shadowed in the bare light, it suddenly occurred to Hermione that the left sleeve of his arm was rolled up.

_The Dark Mark._

She stifled a gasp.

She couldn't see it from where she sat, though she fought a valiant internal battle to keep her eyes on his face as he walked back to her with some jar of unknown salve. She was certain, however, that she could _feel_ her eyes trying to drop downward.

_Don't stare, Hermione. Don't stare._

On a whim she added, to distract herself more than anything, "I'm terrified of flying."

He gave her an odd look, but gestured to a stool that seemed to appear out of nowhere. She seated herself on the round cushion, carefully avoiding the pale skin of his arms. _He,_ she knew at least, did not detest flying insofar that Harry and the Headmistress had seen him once perform the same hovering charm Voldemort had perfected.

Pulling a stool up next to her, she heard him ask, "Did you have an accident in your flying lessons?"

Humiliated that the conversation had turned to this, she muttered quietly, "No."

Looking her fully in the face, he asked, "Were you thrown from your broom?"

Her face flushed, and she looked away from him, completely mortified. With the tone of greatest aversion, she said, "No."

In that razor-edge near stillness, Severus cleared his throat. "You will please roll up your sleeve."

Looking down at her lap, Hermione sighed, wondering how she had, once again, come to be in the care of Severus Snape. Gingerly, she reached over to the cuff of her sleeve, folding it slowly upwards.

"How did you come to be injured?" Severus asked, and he reached to draw her arm to him. The disturbing musculature of his hands made her fall silent, and again she averted her eyes.

"It was Harry's owl."

"Good Lord," he murmured, looking from her hand to her face, "did he not purchase a tamed bird?"

"No, he's tame," Hermione countered, wincing slightly as Severus checked the mobility of her thumb. "Kobic arrived just before our meeting, you see. I knew he had a letter from Harry but... I wasn't in the right mind to read it just then. When I told him I'd meet him in the Owlery, he sort of..." she trailed off.

Severus looked up at her blankly. "He _what_?"

Sensing the unrestrained fury in Severus' eyes, Hermione wondered if she should make a mad dash to her quarters, read the letter, and shoo Kobic out her window before Severus found the bird and turned him into a feather-top pillow.

She dropped her gaze. "He...well, he sort of went mad and flew at me."

Hermione knew he was looking at her, but she refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead on her half-mangled hand. Out of the corner of her peripheral vision, she saw the snake curling on his white forearm. Vaguely, she wondered if he even noticed it at all anymore.

"Perhaps," Severus ground out, "Potter might use some sense and have the animal put down."

Hermione's eyes shot wide open and she jerked her head up. "Severus, no!"

Unperturbed, he said flatly, "If it was a student that was attacked, I can readily assure you, Hermione, that the school would take immediate action to have the bird destroyed."

"Well, seeing as how I am _not_ a student," she emphasized, looking at him squarely, "I certainly will not be pressing charges, as these are minor scratches which can be healed rather easily."

"Indeed," he sneered, "let us hope the next time the bird does not take a finger."

At this, Hermione blanched, recoiling a little. If Severus saw her face whiten, he ignored it. Clinically, he said, "The gash between your thumb and index finger should require Muggle stitches. If you feel more comfortable having Poppy at your disposal, I shall summon her."

"Stitches?" she echoed, somewhat alarmed, glancing down at the pool of red on her hand. "Can't you just fix it with a spell?"

The intensity of his gaze just then discomfited her. For the briefest of moments, she thought she saw a swell of pity.

"No," he said, and his voice was almost remorseful. "The skin between your thumb and index finger is quite...sensitive." He cleared his throat. "As it is almost always in constant motion when you move your hand, write, or wave your wand, stitches are the only outlet which will keep the wound properly closed."

"Oh," she said dumbly, and felt slightly dizzied. "No, it's fine; I...I trust you to do it."

If he was at all surprised by her blatant trust in him, he didn't show it -- which was, in and of itself, unsurprising. He merely nodded once and set about to find a needle and thread. Hermione fidgeted with her free hand and worried her lower lip as he scanned the fully stocked shelves. When she looked up again he was standing straight in front of her. Childishly anxious, she sucked in a deep breath.

"Give me your arm."

She did, and it was clammy with nervousness.

"Hold still," he said, though not without affection. "I will do my best not to hurt you."

The initial prick of the needle was not bad. The subsequent loops and pulls, however, were rather uncomfortable. Hermione decided that Severus had made a rather apt description of the skin there in claiming it to be sensitive. Near the end of the procedure, as he carefully pulled the thread through what she assumed was the final loop, (she had, quite adamantly, refused to look at what he was doing and was observing the bare walls of the room at present) it caught tight as he made to pull, and she gasped, involuntarily jerking her hand away from him.

Severus snapped his head up and looked at her in alarm, as though he had committed some unspeakable violation. "I beg your forgiveness," he said with complete sincerity, holding both his hands up, "I did not...I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," she nodded her head, wincing slightly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -- "

"--You have nothing to apologize for," he said gravely. "It is_ I_ who was in error."

She looked up at him blankly. Never before had she heard him speak with such sincerity. But she felt like a foolish child, nervous over a thing as silly as stitches. _Grow up, Hermione._

"Shall I fetch Poppy?"

Hermione was disposed to sit there a moment longer, mulling over his strange behavior and the sudden interest in her well-being. She thought back to her school years. Never, really, was there an instance where she had been alone with him -- and _certainly_ never a situation where he would have needed to act as her guardian. The incident of the Shrieking Shack in her third year flickered briefly before her visual recall, and then she heard Severus saying, "I will summon Poppy to finish with your hand."

Hermione shook her head decidedly. "No, my mind just wandered. Please, finish what you need to."

He looked momentarily surprised and Hermione wasn't able to ascertain the particular motivation behind such an expression. Not that it mattered much; it was gone in the next instant. But to assure him she was quite serious, she scooted as close to him as her stool would allow and offered her arm. His black eyes met and held hers for several moments before he reached out and carefully cradled the injured appendage.

000

Once the deed was finished, Severus set about to healing the less serious scratches.

Dipping his long fingers into the cool salve, he hesitated before he took her arm again, cursing himself silently for a fool.

Perhaps this was all very inappropriate. He had been asking himself ever since he half-dragged Hermione down the corridor why he didn't take her to the Hospital Wing for Poppy to attend to.

Oddly, he didn't have an answer. And that uncertainty unnerved him more than anything.

"A little down, and to the right," Hermione said absentmindedly.

Startled, Severus realized while he was thus musing, he had taken the salve to Hermione's white skin, and was rubbing methodical circles over her injuries. A moment later he thought better of it. He dropped his hands and scooted back on the stool.

_What are you doing, Severus? Just because the girl can actually stand to be in your presence does not give you the right nor inclination to instigate some....some sort of physical contact with a woman half your age. _

"How do you know so much about medicinal potions and charms?" she asked unperturbed, and then added with a small smile, "I'd wager you'd give Poppy a run for her money."

He did not return the gesture. _You're playing with fire, Severus. _Stealing his hand up to massage the side of his neck, he said simply, "The Dark Lord requested it of me."

Hermione's smile faltered. "Oh," she said dumbly. And then she seemed to truly consider his words, cocking her head to the side as she regarded him carefully. "Do you know how to tend to Dark curses, then?"

If he was truly honest with himself, he was surprised by the bluntness of the question. But then he remembered he was dealing with a Gryffindor; and Hermione Granger, no less.

"That," said Severus decidedly, "is not a conversation I wish to delve into."

She looked to her hands, chagrined. "Oh. Of course." And then she added quietly, looking up at him with brown eyes full of sincerity. "Thank you for, well, for everything."

He nodded once, suddenly horribly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

The silence that followed was deafening. He cursed himself for a fool for accusing her of being an _insufferable-know-it-all. _At least when she was rambling idiotically he was decidedly less anxious. It unnerved him deeply that this...this _woman_ could have such a profound effect upon his being, where it was _he_ who felt the need to offer some inconsequential comment on the grandeur of the room or on the number of students this year. Caught up in this thoughts, he remained quiet, and they sat in mutual silence for several minutes.

She didn't move, nor did he.

It was strange how much she had changed since she was his student. Her once pathological need to show-off had diminished to what he could swear was uncertainty. No doubt the murder of her parents and her subsequent guilt and misery had effected her greatly, but there was a quiet maturity there in the way that she stood or sat or spoke that was something beyond her years. No longer did she flaunt the knowledge she so obviously possessed. And she didn't need to. Intelligence radiated from her eyes in a way that demanded respect from her students and the rest of the staff.

That spark of intelligence seemed to be her constant companion except for on the few occasions, it now occurred to him, he caught a raw emptiness there.

He could bear the silence no longer. He looked at her to speak but caught her as she retreated deep into what he could only assume were her memories. He saw there, with some surprise, a touch of that same look she had worn on a different morning. When she had said, _I could have protected them. It's my fault they're dead._

The broken look of despair that flitted across her features caused his stomach to churn most unexpectedly.

When she caught him looking at her, she turned her head away.

He hesitated a moment before saying, "I wish to ask you something, Hermione."

She looked up at him reluctantly, like a young child unwilling to take their medicine. "Yes?"

"What," he shook his head, trying corral his sluggish thoughts into some semblance of order. "What is your relation to Potter?"

"My relation?"

"Your _relation_," he echoed, and there was a hint of impatience in his voice. "Are you his friend?" He used the word, 'friend', Hermione noted, with the greatest abhorrence.

"You know the answer to that question, Severus, without having to ask me," she replied with deceptive mildness.

He smiled grimly. "Let me rephrase myself, then. _Why_ do you to tolerate his friendship."

Mildly surprised that the conversation had turned to Harry without her prompting, Hermione said firmly, "I tolerate nothing. He's one of my best friends."

Severus sneered, his lip curling nastily, "Ah, of course. And was his outburst at Grimmauld Place an example of said friendship? Or your subsequent avoidance of his letter which resulted with bodily damage to your person?"

Hermione blanched. "I didn't ignore the letter because he's any less of a friend," she admitted at length, "I just wasn't ready to hear his apology."

She was slightly surprised by her own response. _Am I truly that petty? That I want to remain angry at Harry when he's willing to apologize?_

"I've already forgiving him," she clarified, and then added somewhat bitterly, "I always seem to."

Severus watched her carefully.

"I _know_ what you're going to say, Severus. Almost, I _want_ you to, but I know how Harry is. You know him to be rash and impulsive. And you're right. He is. And if you think I'm too proud or defensive to admit that, you're mistaken." She met his dark gaze firmly. "I know what Harry is and what he isn't. But despite all his faults, you should know, whatever he is, he is not his father."

Severus' head jerked up, and he pinned her with a murderous gaze. Hollowly, he whispered, "You go too far."

Hermione felt a little ashamed and looked away. "You fault him for something that was never in his control --"

"--Do _not_ think that you presume to know or understand me, Hermione," he spat through gritted teeth, drawing himself up angrily to tower over her. "You know _nothing_ of which you speak."

She paled, suddenly quite certain she should have kept her big mouth shut. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "I didn't mean any--"

"You didn't _think_, girl!" he snapped, and his face twisted horribly. After a silence that felt like an eternity, Severus whispered in a dangerously soft voice, "We are quite finished here, _Professor Granger_."

And before Hermione could utter any sort of response or apology, Severus stormed from the room in a towering rage, grabbing his robes without a second glance.

Staring after him, momentarily paralyzed, Hermione eventually shook her head to get her bearings, and then flew from her stool to run after him.

The corridor was completely empty.

"Severus?"

She broke into a full-out run, rounding the corner and very nearly colliding with two third-year Hufflepuffs.

"Oh, er, sorry Professor Granger," one of the young boys muttered, looking at his professor with confusion.

Hermione started a response but came up short, having caught sight of Severus' black robes billowing at the far end of the hallway.

"Severus!"

Again she broke into a run, dodging wildly between a few startled students that had ventured out on the early Saturday morning. Belatedly, as she ran idiotically, she was grateful that most students still chose to sleep in.

"Severus!" she called again, pushing her boots hard against the stone floor to catch him up. This time, however, Severus stopped short and spun around. In the heat of her full out run and his unexpected halt, Hermione collided squarely into his chest with a muffled _umph._

"Merline's beard," he spat, pushing her away from him. "A little restraint -- "

But he cut himself off when a silvery wisp of glorious light rounded a bend in the corridor, taking the form of Minerva McGonagall's feline Patronus.

"Severus," the graceful cat spoke in Minerva's authoritative voice, "please join me in my office immediately." The creature cocked its head to the side, pricking its ears forward. "And be sure to bring Hermione Granger with you."

The animal disappeared as gracefully as it had come, dissipating into nothingness as a few startled students watched the scene curiously. With one glance from Severus Snape, however, they quickly scurried on their way, whispering furiously as they cast suspecting glances over their shoulders.

Without warning, Severus, who was still rolling his sleeves downward to his wrists, turned on the spot and stormed through the hallway in the direction of the Headmistress's office. Hermione, still breathing a little raggedly, jogged to keep up with him.

"Severus, wait!" she cried out heavily, keenly aware that she was dreadfully out of shape. She came up next to him, but he would not look at her. "Please, just let me apologize before -- "

"I have nothing further to discuss with you," Severus growled, pointedly looking straight ahead.

With what she later determined to be a wise decision on her part, Hermione kept her mouth shut and followed miserably in Severus' wake, head slightly bent, until they reached the stone gargoyle.

Minerva was in her office, hunched over a stack of parchments at her desk in the atrocious posture she took to when she thought no one was looking. Severus looked down at her, her veined hands at work with quiet purpose as she carefully returned her quill to the ink pot.

"Ah," the Headmistress said primly, looking up as Hermione entered the space, followed closely by Severus. "Yes, I was just mulling over the events of this morning to ascertain if I had at last gone mad." She nodded at two chairs across her desk. "Please sit," she gestured in front of her. "The both of you."

Whether it was a strange fit of gallantry or something entirely different, Severus waited for Hermione to seat herself and then followed suit.

_Likely_, Hermione mused bitterly, _he's waiting for Minerva to curse me first._

After a lengthy pause, the Headmistress looked up from her desk, leaned back slightly in her chair, and steepled her fingers. Uncharacteristically silent and barely moving, only her gray eyes flicked from behind her spectacles, considering one professor and then the other.

"Well," she said expectantly, though her gaze ended up falling on Severus, "kindly explain yourselves, if you please."

Hermione looked down nervously for a moment and then up around the room, at the overflowing bookshelves lining every wall surface with books stacked two deep and not at all haphazardly, and the one half-wall which housed some of Dumbledore's old treasures, spinning and glowing with magic. The morning light was shining through the high-vaulted windows, battling against the dark shadows in recess across the office.

"It was _my_ fault for the interruption," Hermione blurted out finally, and Severus at last deemed to look over at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

Their eyes met from across their chairs.

_Well, better confused than furious._

"I had a...a slight accident in my quarters -- which is why I was late to the meeting and for which I am _terribly_ sorry." Hermione leaned forward in her chair with wide, sincere eyes and then rushed on quickly, almost tripping over her words, "I know how you _hate_ interruptions, Minerva, and how the meeting was already underway and I feel simply _awful_ that I caused a scene and that the staff had to -- "

"-- Hermione," Minerva interrupted not unkindly, holding up a hand to halt the younger woman. "No one is under review here for the Board. I am simply trying to ascertain why two people I consider to know rather well were acting quite strangely."

Hermione swallowed. "Yes," she nodded, thinking of how Severus had reached across her lap to take her arm. "Yes, of course."

Minerva's eyes flicked momentarily to Severus.

"Now, Hermione." She cleared her throat. "You will please tell me the nature of this accident."

The younger witch looked up uncertainly, wondering belatedly how the events of the morning had led her to this embarrassing moment. Silently, she cursed Harry's blasted owl. "Well, I... " She looked to her hands, which were wringing together anxiously. Her bandaged right hand had a little spot of red close to her thumb. "It...it was an owl."

Minerva's eyebrows shot into her hairline and she leaned forward, looking to Severus for confirmation. "A school owl?"

Hermione's chin dropped to her chest and she mumbled quietly, "No, it was, er ... Harry's owl."

"Potter's owl, you say?"

She ducked her head further. "Yes, Minerva."

After a beat, Hermione heard the Headmistress ask her, "The bird simply attacked you?"

And with her brows knitting together, Hermione finally looked up, seeing that same steeliness in the older woman she seemed to recall so well as a student. "No, not...not exactly."

Toying uncomfortably with her fingers, Hermione prayed this was a conversation that wouldn't propagate. Slowly, she began to realize there could be no mistakes here. The conversation where she admitted not only to Severus that her relationship with Harry was strained, but to Minerva McGonagall that she was admittedly avoiding him should never begin.

It wasn't fair to Harry.

To run to the cloaked authoritative figures of Hogwarts with her every worry and have them pass judgment on Harry was the worst sort of gossip. _Not to mention_, she thought as she strained her neck upwards, looking pointedly at the sleeping portraits of Headmasters past, the walls of Hogwarts had both eyes _and_ ears.

Why she had previously confided in Severus, she still wasn't entirely certain.

"Hermione," Minerva said incredulously, watching the conflicting emotions written plainly on the younger woman's face. "For heaven's sake, what _happened?_"

Hermione blinked, somewhat unprepared for the question, momentarily at a loss. Both because she couldn't imagine something truthful to tell her safely, and because the grief and shame were so fresh that she wasn't quite sure _what_ to do with it.

"It was nothing," she said dismissively, with what she prayed was genuine sincerity. "The owl bit me and Severus saw that I was getting blood all onto your table, so he pulled me out of the meeting so I could...tidy myself up a bit."

Beside her, Severus sat stoically unmoving and Hermione wondered vaguely if he were listening at all or if his mind were somewhere else. She felt a dark twinge of guilt at her earlier comment to him about James Potter."

Minerva sighed, running a small hand up to her perfectly meticulous gray bun. "Hermione," she said, spreading her hands out helplessly, "Why would Harry's owl attack you? It is very nearly unheard of for an owl to attack a witch or wizard. The few known cases I _have_ heard of have been the direct result of abuse -- no, Hermione, I would never dream that you or Potter would intentionally harm the animal," she added quickly, when she saw Hermione's brown eyes grow wide with insult. "Is the bird not tame?"

Hermione looked up at the Headmistress helplessly, thinking of all the hundred things she could say.

"This...week has been most unlike you," Minerva continued, when Hermione remained silent. "You appear to be running yourself ragged. Just what is it that you need, now?"

_Within the realm of possibility? _Hermione sighed. "A little borrowed time. A little peace. Focus." She looked up at Minerva with a shaky smile. "I just need _not_ to...think about things for awhile. To clear my head."

It was a vague answer, she knew, but it was at least honest.

Beside her Severus closed his eyes for a long moment. Hermione saw a strange, quiet tension build in him, that perfect stillness he fell into when it appeared he was weighing a hundred thousand different things at once. She had seen that look on a different night, when she had asked him if he planned to return from the dead. But just then he looked back up at the Headmistress, and his face was masked with indifference.

In an entirely different tone, Minerva said, "I'd like to speak with you more about this later in private, Hermione, if that's obliging to you." She gave the young witch a little half-smile. "You are dismissed. Severus? I'd like a few words with you if you're not busy at present?"

Grunting something indistinguishable, Severus gave the Headmistress a little half-nod.

Hermione stood and glanced back at the Defense professor. He didn't look at her. His face was careful and set, looking straight at Minerva, who was barricaded safely behind her desk. Involuntarily, her eyes flicked upward once more, and she caught Dumbledore's portrait. Unlike the other Headmasters, he, for once, wasn't feigning sleep, and cast her a small, genuine smile. Quickly, she gathered her things she had left earlier in the staff meeting.

And as Hermione exited through the threshold and down the spiral stairs, she could have _sworn_ she had seen the Headmaster's eyes twinkle.

000

"Biscuit, Severus?"

Severus glared up at the older witch between a curtain of black hair. "Laced with Veritaserum?" he snorted ungraciously. "I should think not."

Minerva almost smiled. "Suit yourself." She reached into her tin pan and extricated the biscuit, purposefully drawing it to her mouth in front of him and chewing with obvious intent.

"I imagine, Minerva," Severus drawled, "if you continue to masticate your food in such a manner, Madame Maxine will feel compelled to lead you to her horse trough with the other animals."

At this, Minerva _did_ smile. "Ah, Severus," she said amusingly, tilting her head to the side. "How I ever went without being in your company for seven years is quite beyond me. I find I've rather missed your impeccable observances."

His expression didn't change, exactly, but Severus did what he could to hide the flicker of irritation he felt sweep over his features.

"A rather subtle way to contact me, Minerva," said Severus, with as much annoyance as he could muster. "Do you think your Patronus went unnoticed by the students or are you simply losing your nerve?"

The Headmistress shrugged. "I see nothing wrong with it, Severus. This is a magical school -- full of magic, I might add," she said stoically. "I simply requested you and Hermione come to my office. There is little else to be read from it."

Severus scowled.

"I _do_ have a question for you, though," Minerva said with a thin smile, straightening in her armchair and moving her ink pot out of the way. "And I do hope you will indulge me by answering truthfully, Severus."

He grimaced pointedly. "That," he said smoothly, idly picking the invisible lint off his ebony robes and flicking it towards the crackling hearth, "will be determined by what you wish to ask me, Minerva."

Having the good sense to appear unperturbed, the Headmistress leaned forward in her chair. "You will please tell me exactly what transpired this morning with Hermione Granger."

"A second rendition of the tale?" Severus murmured sarcastically. "Surely you don't find it worth the energy of retelling. The girl was bleeding all over your table."

"Ah, yes," said Minerva, leaning back in her chair and removing her spectacles. Very deliberately, she cleaned each lens with the excess material of her sleeves. "But my question," she continued, "is why _you_ felt the need to bodily remove her from this office."

Severus scowled again. "I would have _thought_ you knew your little protege better, Minerva. The girl could have been bleeding to death from a slicing hex and she would have remained in this office without being prompted to leave," he sneered. "Merlin forbid she miss a staff meeting."

Minerva regarded him quietly, with the same intense stare she bestowed upon her students. She had always possessed the uncanny ability of knowing more about him than she let on -- more so, even, than Albus. And if he wasn't certain beyond any shadow of doubt that she was no Legilimens, he might have occluded his mind. As it was, staring blankly ahead at her stiff form, he felt his mental barriers rising on their own accord.

Years of cultivating observance, he supposed.

To be sure, Severus wasn't entirely certain what she thought of him. That uncertainty, he sullenly acknowledged, left him feeling slightly off-balance. Oh, she had embraced him and told him that he was needed, but he had done unspeakable things in his past. _Unforgivable_ things. Albus may have been able to ignore the gruesome truths of what it meant to be a Death Eater -- he had requested it of him; but Minerva McGonagall was an entirely different matter.

The year he had reigned as Headmaster had been a disaster. Between dealing with the Carrows and trying to ascertain what the Dark Lord had in store for Potter, Minerva likely assumed him to be the worst sort of traitor. He had done what he could for her, but he was under constant scrutiny from the damnable Defense professors, and he was rather certain he had fallen short where she had been concerned.

"Severus," said Minerva rather whimsically, interrupting his musings, "Don't think me blind. You tolerate Hermione Granger when you tolerate none else."

Severus gritted his teeth, scowling darkly. "_Tolerate_ is a rather apt description, Minerva, as that is simply what it is. Anything you are insinuating beyond that is insulting."

"Ah, of course," the Headmistress said fondly, cocking her head to the side, "how often you wish others to see the worst in you." Smiling softly to herself, she returned the spectacles to their proper home on the bridge of her nose. "But you can't fool me, Severus. Hermione would be a most loyal friend if you let her."

"I have _never_ nor do I intend to _ever_ be in the market for _friends_," Severus spat. Staring over at the portrait of Dumbledore, he saw the old man listening with rapt attention. "Your meddling is as bad as Dumbledore's, _Headmistress_." He sneered, and then his lip quirked upward. "Is it a trait of the post?"

Minerva shrugged indifferently, clasping her hands together. "You are just as capable of answering that question as I am, Severus, seeing as how you once occupied this position."

Silence.

"I have told you I do not wish to discuss that."

"And yet, you instigated the conversation."

Rising to his feet, he spat furiously, "Have you quite finished, Minerva? With your pathetic attempts to throw _friendship_ my way? Yes? I have a stack of parchments from a deplorable group of first-years just waiting to be marked with red _T's_."

Minerva raised an eyebrow at him. "Sit down, Severus," she said mildly, completely unperturbed by his outburst. "I still have something to discuss with you."

_Damn the woman_, Severus thought vehemently, but the anger in his eyes slowly simmered. He calculated for a moment and at length, he sat, sitting so fully erect in the chair that he might as well have been standing in the first place. It infuriated him to no end that the woman couldn't be cowered by intimidation.

"Tell me, please, how your first week of teaching went. I trust there were no incidents?"

He sneered maliciously. "You mean, perhaps, aside from the children I cursed and locked in the dungeons? No, I cannot recall any such thing."

"_Severus,_" Minerva said warningly. "I am being quite serious. I will tolerate no abuse in this school and that _includes_ abuse towards my professors. It's the older students I am most concerned with." She fixed him with a stern glare. "How are the seventh year Griffindors and Slytherins? I'm afraid they tend to be the most troublesome."

"Your _Gryffindors_ notwithstanding, Minerva," he sneered, "I maintain complete control of my classroom. You have no reason to waste your efforts coddling me."

"_Severus._"

He sighed deeply, stealing his hand to massage his battered neck. He had known her long enough to tell when her patience had been exhausted. "The students," he said finally, with empathic resignation, "have given me no more grief than they have in years past. Interpret that for what you will, Minerva." And then he added with a disgusted sneer, "Nothing could be as tormenting as the years I spent in supervision of _Potter's_ tutelage."

The Headmistress lifted a thinning brow. "Severus, while I do not ever expect for you and Mr. Potter to be close acquaintances, you _will_ be civil to the boy in my presence. Am I understood? Good. Oh, don't look so put-out, Severus. Potter killed one of the darkest wizards in our entire history when he was merely seventeen. Give credit where credit is due."

Severus glared maliciously at the older woman, completely enraged. At her, for not allowing him to speak, and at himself, for thinking she would do any differently.

"Now what was the incident with poor Hermione?" Minerva asked seriously, changing the subject. "Harry's owl attacked her?"

He stared blankly at her for a moment. "Yes, Minerva," he said bitterly. "The animal attacked her. What more can be said on the matter? That Potter, in his infinite foolishness, made yet _again_ a reckless decision that effected everyone but himself? That he was rash enough to go so far as to nearly attack Professor Granger in his own anger?"

"What's this?" Minerva's head snapped up. "Harry attacked Hermione?"

Severus blinked, completely silent.

"How do you know this, Severus?" The Headmistress pressed. And then her eyes narrowed. "I warn you, if you are spreading gossip amongst my staff, friend or no, I _will_ have you removed from these grounds immediately."

He raised his eyebrows. "Calm yourself, Minerva. I have better things to do than participate in petty gossip."

Her eyes swept over him. "It's true, then? Potter attacked her?"

Severus shifted. "I have... already said more than I feel comfortable repeating. If you wish to know of what transpired between Potter and Professor Granger, I suggest you ask her yourself. As you stated so _marvelously_ earlier, it would not do to further instigate the gossip of professors' personal affairs."

Minerva's mouth thinned to a barely visible line. For a few moments, she said nothing. Severus felt a small amount of triumph at that. As honorable as the Headmistress was, her interest in two of her former -- now _famous_ -- students would be difficult to deny.

The Headmistress sighed. "At the very least, Severus, is it something that could affect her performance as a professor? Surely, that is within my right to know."

He inclined his head. "The... incident in question occurred some time ago. As it is, I do not believe Professor Granger would let anything personal interfere with her teaching."

Minerva nodded her agreement. "Yes. Yes, she's quite professional."

After a beat, she added quietly, "And I must admit I ... I am somewhat surprised that she would chose to confide in you, Severus. You haven't _Imperio'd_ the poor girl, have you?"

Severus snorted. "You should know better than to bait a Slytherin, Minerva. It doesn't work so charmingly as your easily provoked Gryffindors."

She regarded him curiously, as though there were some sort of physical manifestation for Hermione's confidement in him.

It was silent for the better part of a minute; the only sound in the office being the whirring and humming of Dumbledore's old magical instruments.

"Is there something else you required of me, Minerva?" Severus said blandly.

Minerva glanced up at him. "No," she said simply, shaking her head. "No, that will be all, Severus. I simply wished to ascertain whether the students had given you any grief as of yet -- and of course, to determine what had happened to Hermione." She smiled. "I trust everything is in order with your rooms and your private laboratory?"

Severus swallowed. "Yes, I was ... most grateful to have access to my laboratory again, despite my post as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It will be invaluable should I have the time to continue with some of my more urgent experiments." He looked up at her. "And, of course, in the event that the Order requires a potion of me."

Minerva gave him a soft smile. "My dear Severus," she said warmly, and she reached her old hand across her desk and left it there, palm up. "Always so willing to give everything of yourself and asking nothing in return."

Severus stared down at her veined hand. He realized, belatedly, that she was waiting for his own. Unsure of what else to do -- Albus had never instigated any physical contact other than what was absolutely necessary -- he stretched his arm out and placed his hand in her small, withered one. His gaze flicked up to her, and her gray eyes were shining brightly. Severus waited for her to say something, growing increasingly uncomfortable with each passing second. Maybe she didn't know what to say. Maybe she wasn't saying more because, Minervalike, she didn't want her voice to crack. But he couldn't take it much longer, this silence that left him with little to ponder but for their clutched hands.

"Minerva -- "

" -- That will be all, Severus," the Headmistress cut in, releasing his hand and slowly rising to her feet as her joints creaked audibly. "Shall I except to see you tonight in the Great Hall for supper?"

Severus looked up at her, at this brave, stern woman who had sacrificed every bit as much as he had for the cause of the Order and he, too, rose to his feet. Quietly, he murmured, "Of course, Headmistress."

She smiled cheerfully, patting him on the shoulder as he swept over to the exit.

Seveurs hesitated, turning to look down at the older woman. "I wish to ... thank you, Minerva, for trusting me to this post -- "

"Nonsense," she interrupted dismissively, "You're the finest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher the school can recall in so many years. You deserve it, Severus."

"Quite so," Albus Dumbledore's portrait chimed in from across the room.

Severus' dark eyes surveyed the old Headmaster's portrait silently. A pang a guilt racked his soul for the briefest of moments, and then he turned on the spot and gracefully descended the stairs toward the gargoyle.

"He cares too much, that one," Dumbledore offered thoughtfully, when Severus' steps no longer echoed up the spiral staircase.

Without looking back at the portrait, Minerva smiled sadly. "I only wish, Albus, that there was something more I could do for him."

She heard the Headmaster bustling around in his portrait. "No, no, that's not for you, my dear Minerva," he said somberly. "But I am quite confident there is most certainly someone that _can _help him."

Minerva smiled sadly, turning to look up at the old man. "I only hope she's not too broken, Albus."

* * *

_A/N: First of all, I am on my knees, currently begging your forgiveness at how long it took me to update. In all fairness, I do have a few plausibly acceptable excuses: 1) This was, by far, the most difficult chapter to write. I've thought back on it and I suppose its due to the fact that it was one of those chapters that helps us get from point A to B. And so, it took an inordinately long amount of time to write. 2) I was out of town for about a week - with no internet access, and finally (and certainly not really an excuse at all), 3) my boyfriend has been rather demanding of my time lately. I hope the length of this chapter makes up for it a little - almost 12,000 words!_

_The quote at the start of the chapter, for those of you who couldn't guess, is in reference to Minerva and Severus. I hope to explore more of their relationship throughout this story, as I find it extremely fascinating. A huge thank-you for all the reviews thus far; you're all wonderful. As I may be unemployed here within the next few weeks, I should have ample time to write, so I expect the next update to be sooner, rather than later. :)_

_Love you all,_

_Liz_


	9. Chapter 9

_"Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it."_

- William Arthur Ward

* * *

Chapter 9

* * *

"This really isn't," Hermione said mildly, folding her arms as she leaned against the side door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, "the job I signed on for."

Severus looked up from his desk, his dark eyes meeting the Transfiguration professor with a spark of recognition. He traced her movements, unblinking, as she came up toward him.

_Graceful,_ he thought grimly,_ as always._

They hadn't spoken much since that morning nearly a month ago, when she had asked him to not compare Harry to his father. And Hermione had been so deeply ashamed she had done what she swore she would never do -- invade his privacy -_-_ that when she thought of what she had said, she found it difficult to breath. Of her own selfishness and of her blindness. Of not realizing that she had never gained a new half-freedom with him at all by what she had told him and only pushed him further away.

She tried apologize; first in person, and then by owl. Thinking of the hundred hundred ways she could make it up to him, her answer came, oddly, when she realized the only thing he truly wanted was for her to drop the matter altogether. And so, it was with a pained and weary heart that she did. Holding back and not pressing him further had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

_And that's after putting two parents in the ground,_ she thought miserably_._

Initially, she had been surprised by the intensity of her self-directed anger, but then, like everything else that had happened over the last seven years, she felt tired, and did what she could to not think on it.

And so she found herself inordinately surprised when she first saw the tiny scrap of parchment on her office desk with Severus' impeccable script glaring up at her asking, _of all things,_ for her assistance in assembling a dueling club.

Back in the Defense classroom, from his position barricaded behind his desk, Severus watched her face as she approached. It hardly moved at all, but his exquisitely perceptive senses focused together on a single point, and read the things that passed through as clearly as any written word. He saw her uneasiness, her uncertainty. He saw the terrible temptation to bring up what he had adamantly refused to speak about, and then dismissed the thought, ashamed.

And then he saw the tiny flicker of hope there, and he felt his stomach constrict.

"A dueling club?" she asked softly, when she at last arrived at his desk. Absurdly, as she stood there before him, she wasn't sure what to do with her hands.

Ever rigid, Severus meticulously returned his quill to the ebony ink pot and then steepled his fingers together.

"You disapprove?"

She looked back at him, startled.

"I, well ... I just don't understand why you would need _my_ help, is all. Defense was my poorest subject at school."

There was something quieter in his eyes when he asked, "And what was your final grade?"

Hermione swallowed. "An '_E_'."

The corner of his lip quirked. "Ah, yes. _Quite_ abysmal."

She stood there, fingering the hem of her skirts with her thumb and forefinger, having no idea what to say. These were waters she knew nothing about -- Severus _teasing _her? She generally thought she was articulate, but standing there in razor silence, listening to herself breathing, she felt rather out of her depth.

She met his eyes silently. "What did Minerva say?"

Watching her levelly, Severus stood with purpose and came halfway around the desk and leaned against the corner in front of her, folding his arms across his chest.

"She disapproves," he said simply. "Her concern is with the one student that will find it humorous to cast something _other_ than a disarming or shielding charm. She insists one professor to monitor that many students in a dangerous environment is simply not enough."

Hermione's eyes widened with understanding. "Which is where I come in," she concluded.

He inclined his head. "Quite."

She swallowed, and Severus caught the flash of her throat when she breathed. "Severus, I don't know. Perhaps someone more qualified -- "

" -- Did you not fight in the Battle of Hogwarts?"

She looked up at him slowly, like a small child waiting to be reprimanded. "Yes, but -- "

" -- Did you not search over all of Britain for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"Then I fail to see the problem," he said stiffly. "You are more qualified than most."

For the first compliment he had ever given her, she should have felt infinitely more elated. As it was, with another retort on the tip of her tongue, she realized, belatedly, that perhaps this was his way of giving her an out. Of making a truce. A peace offering, of sorts, for her pathetic attempts to apologize to him.

Instantly, she snapped her mouth shut.

"If," she hesitated, looking shyly at him with a great deal of uncertainty, "If you _truly_ think I would be useful, then yes, Severus; I will help you."

His dark eyes held hers and he nodded curtly, saying nothing.

And it occurred to her, absurdly, that if he had requested her assistance seven years ago, she likely would have been paralyzed with shock. She wondered if she should feel numb.

"Severus?" said Hermione after a moment, furrowing her brow, "I want to understand something." She paused, shaking her head. "There hasn't been a dueling club at Hogwarts since I was a second year, and we both know how _that_ turned out. Is this ... I don't know, some sort of homage to Dumbledore's Army?"

He straightened himself, drawing on the intimidation of his full height. "It is an homage to nothing. The Wizarding world is at war, Hermione, despite how many still attempt to deny it. The fall of the Dark Lord did not secure the childish idea that Wizarding society would be free of Death Eaters or other dark creatures. While it may be unlikely any of the rouge Death Eaters would succeed in trying to finish what their master started, it does not mean they _won't_ attempt it." He fixed her with a significant look. "It has not yet ended."

Thinking of her parents, of her father's bear hugs and the smell of her mother's shampoo, she whispered softly, averting her eyes, "I know."

If Hermione would have been looking at him directly, she would have seen his dark eyes widen, with a too-perfect understanding.

"You can't destroy what you can't see," Severus continued softly, "and the students at Hogwarts have had what I found to be ... _deplorable_ instruction in the past, to say the least. It my duty, therefore, to see to it that I give them every possible faucet of experience and knowledge to have at their disposal in such unsettled times. I cannot, I _will not_ do anything less."

She gave him an answering, humorless chuckle. "A pretty speech, Severus," she said with a soft smile. "But you don't need to convince me. Of course I'll help you where I can."

He gazed down his long nose at her. "Good. There was also another matter I wished to discuss with you, if you're free at present."

She cocked her head at him, surprised. "Of course."

He swept past her then, his black robes nearly whipping her in the face. "Follow me."

Watching him this time as she followed hurriedly in his wake, exiting his classroom and making his way through a side hallway toward the dungeons, painfully aware of her own isolation, Hermione thought consciously of his. And then, as she had a hundred times, she thought about the other implications of it. Since his tragic past with Lily, she had no idea if he ever felt desire. Much less, a steady longing, or a solid love. Or was he content is his solitude, never wanting or needing to feel the heat and mystery of love or passion again? She scarcely had time to dwell on it again, for Severus stopped abruptly in front of a woven tapestry she had passed a thousand times before as a student.

It was an image of Circe, the ancient Greek wizard on the island of Aeaea, turning lost and distraught sailors into pigs.

Gracefully, Severus drew his wand and murmured an incantation quietly to himself as he raised the shiny black object to the top right corner of the tapestry. One unfortunate sailor was mid-transformation -- pale face contorted and a curly tail sprouting prominently.

Suddenly, the wall shuddered to reveal, through the dust, a shadowed, barreled, tunnel. "What ... _is_ this place?" Hermione asked, taking an involuntary half-step backwards.

Severus ducked under the low ceiling and stalked forward into the darkness, disappearing completely. Hermione, much shorter than the Defense professor, only had to tilt her head slightly to avoid bumping against the rounded arch. While Severus navigated through the virtual darkness of the tunnel without difficulty, Hermione rather wished to avoid the scenario where she tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her backside. Deftly, she fingered for her wand, casting a silent _Lumos_.

After all, she had only just gained the man's confidence to be a competent assistant to the dueling club.

Despite her best efforts, unfortunately, she still managed to stumble slightly, and Severus reached out from somewhere in the blackness and took hold of her elbow, lightly, to pull her along after him.

"Thanks," Hermione muttered, inwardly thankful he couldn't see the blush of embarrassment on face.

It didn't take long before they emerged into a dimly lit room with stone walls deep in shadow; each was lined with glass jars of various shapes and sizes. Hermione paused on the little threshold, looking around curiously at the endless inventory. It was noticeably cooler than in the main castle, and with the early autumn season, she crossed her arms across her chest, rubbing them generously.

"Welcome," said Severus blandly, lighting the room with an expert flick of his wand, "to my private laboratory."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Horace isn't using it?"

With a sudden gleam of black humor in his eyes, he said, "Professor Slughorn is unaware of its existence."

She laughed once, incredulously, shaking her head as she circumvented around the room. "Does Minerva know?"

Severus watched her carefully as she took in the shelves' contents. She paused briefly in front of a jar that housed a large, dead, frog suspended in purple liquid. "There isn't much that goes on in this castle that the Headmistress in unaware of."

Hermione blinked and looked back at him.

"Yes," Severus sighed, when he realized she was still waiting for an answer, "Minerva knows."

She smiled softly, and it reached her eyes. Making her way back to where he stood perfectly still, she commented, "It doesn't look as though you've used it in years."

"I haven't," he agreed, eyes flicking to the cobwebs that had gathered in the wall's corners. "This is my first return since before I was appointed Headmaster."

Hermione stood there for a moment, thinking. "You're going to continue with your research."

It wasn't a question. He cocked his head and studied her for a moment, more directly than she was accustomed to. "Yes," he said simply. "That is my plan."

She looked up and gave him a little half-smile. "Anything I can help with?" And then she added with a wicked smile, "I've been told I'm one _hell_ of a runner for supplies. I even have a contact in the Apothecary, now."

The corner of his lip quirked. "I take it Sophie wasn't overly distraught you were a Gryffindor?"

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Gryffindors grow on you after awhile, Severus. Look at the two of us, for example." She gave him a wry grin. "You couldn't even stand me when I was your student. And now," she tried to meet his eyes without breaking into a full-blown smile, "I'm practically your personal assistant."

He snorted and turned away from her, disappearing through the tunnel they had come in. She was clearly enjoying herself. This month absence of not being able to speak with him plainly, to not wrestle with his mind, or fight his retorts had been surprisingly empty and dull. Her analytical powers tried to interpret whatever the hell that actually meant, when she realized Severus was hollering to her from the dark vault.

"I shall require flobberworm mucus, as well as stargrass for the antidote. Death-cap mushrooms, as well, appear to be in short supply."

Then she caught up to him. "Should I send an owl or shall I fetch them for you?"

He paused in the still darkness and Hermione stopped short to avoid running into him. The harsh plains of his face appeared infinitely sharper with the stark contrast of the black tunnel against the blinding light of his wand. "You are _not_," he said in a dangerously soft voice, "to return to Knockturn Alley."

He was an intimidating sight, towering over her in the cramped walls of the tunnel. And while her mind raced over the implications of what he was saying, her mouth finally caught up with her brain.

"An owl, then?"

"No," he said darkly, and Hermione felt herself take a little half-step back from him. "I wish for you to take an inventory."

Her heart sank. Any third year with a basic grasp on the subject could take an accurate inventory without having to put forth much effort. _Surely_ she was capable of doing more than merely taking stock of supplies.

Oblivious to her thoughts but eerily on topic, Severus added, "_If_ you prove to be competent in that regard, I may concede to allow you to assist in brewing the potions."

Folding her arms, Hermione scowled. "You know _damn _well that I'm perfectly capable of taking an inventory. Any half-wit with a quill could do it. I mean, for the love of Merlin, Severus, we're peers for heaven's sake -- whether _you_ can admit that or not."

She stopped and looked up at him, panting with the pent-up fury of her own injustice; and at herself, for thinking he would say anything different.

"Or why," she added stingingly, "don't you just find a student serving detention to do it and be done with it?"

He looked down at her in the half-darkness of the tunnel. Her chest was heaving a bit from the exertion of jogging after him -- not to mention the fury of her speech.

"Hermione," he drawled silkily after a moment, "I asked you to do an inventory because you are the only one I trust with it."

She looked up and concentrated hard on his face.

"Do you truly believe I would dance around symbols or implications? If I did not wish for your assistance, there would be nothing symbolic about it. You have," he added dryly, moving his wand and adjusting the light, "already so _kindly _informed me of my talent with candor. Rest assured, if I did not need you for this particular assignment, I would not go through the pretense and energy to ask you."

"As it is," he continued in a bored tone, "if you feel you are _above_ said task, I shall simply do it myself."

Hermione stood there in silence. The weight of the world was falling away like water. Was she truly that egotistical? That she felt she was _above_ something that wasn't even in her field of study?

She shook her head. She may not be able to choose everything she became. But she could certainly choose what _not_ to be become. And she would not become _that_.

"Uh, Severus?"

She ducked her head to her chest. "I'm sorry. I ... I didn't think." She looked back up at him. "I'm happy to help with the potions in anyway that I can."

But they weren't just _any_ potions, were they? It was the potential to unearth a cure for the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse. And here she was -- guns blazing, barreling around and demanding justification; complaining that she didn't have an important enough job.

Suddenly, she felt sick.

Severus, however, merely inclined his head. "As you wish."

The walk back to the Defense classroom was mostly silent. Still lost in her thoughts, Hermione smiled half-heartedly at the passing students who straightened their ties and slowed their paces when they caught the Defense professor's formidable gaze. She laughed silently to herself. It didn't seem all that long ago when she, too, had slowed her pace and fixed her tie when she accidently bumped into Severus Snape.

Sweeping through a corridor that was strangely overcrowded with staring students, Hermione looked up only to halt mid-stride, staring half-believing in front of her. Severus, who for once was a few paces _behind_ her, frowned as he stalked up to her side.

"What -- "

But he stopped himself before he got any further and stared ahead, stupidly. Standing before him in Auror's robes, surrounded by star-struck students, with black hair every bit as unruly as his pitiful excuse of a father, stood Harry bloody Potter.

Involuntarily, Severus' fingers itched for his wand.

He sneered disdainfully, dark eyes sweeping over the younger man with malicious contempt.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, when she finally got a handle on her voice, glancing warily at the excited students, "What are you _doing_ here?"

Harry, for his part, green eyes locked nervously on Severus' perfectly still face, looked as uncertain as Hermione had ever seen him. Without thinking _why_ she was doing it, she took a step in front of Severus, placing herself directly between the Defense professor and her best friend.

"Harry?" Hermione tried again, when her friend did nothing more than stare at the man behind her. "_What are you doing here?_"

After Kobic's attack, Hermione eventually conceded and scribbled some half-hearted response to Harry's letter, saying that she understood, and that she had forgiven him -- _which_, if she was being honest with herself, she had. She still hadn't seen him since the incident in the kitchen of Grummauld Place, and every letter he had sent since -- she had _finally _obtained enough sense to purchase a sturdy pair of dragonhide gloves for when Kobic flew into her window -- she had skirted around replying to him.

"Uh, could I talk to you for a second, Hermione?" said Harry, standing very straight, and clearly uncomfortable. The tension written plainly on his face was so obvious that Hermione was certain a blind person could sense it.

Severus' fingers had somehow found their way around his wand, and he realized he was clutching it tightly, feeling the magic tense and pulse as he fantasized over the endless plethora of curses he knew. So Potter had become an Auror. He was, admittedly, grudgingly impressed. The Auror Department had an unbelievably restrictive entrance policy -- even if the applicant was the damnable _Boy-Who-Lived. _The very best wizards, Severus knew, failed out of the training program.

He scowled, gripping his wand all the more firmly.

"Harry," Hermione was saying helplessly, "I have a class to teach in half an hour. I don't," she glanced around at the students, several of which had pulled out empty sheets of parchment and quills in a gesture she could only assume was the hope for an autograph, "I don't think you should have come here. The students should be getting to their classes."

"I only need a minute, Hermione. _Please_."

"Potter," Severus sneered, black eyes sweeping over the younger man with intense dislike. "It seems your presence at Hogwarts today is as disruptive as it always was." His lip curled nastily. "Perhaps you should plan your personal visits during a time which does not effect the staff or students."

"Professor Snape," Harry said politely, inclining his head. "Er, I just need a moment with Hermione to -- "

But Harry trailed off as Severus side-stepped around Hermione.

Severus easily had the height advantage, staring down at Harry from several inches above the younger wizard. "Potter," he hissed, and before Hermione knew what she was fully about, drew her wand and concentrated on a the most powerful shield charm she could think of. "I believe Professor Granger made it perfectly clear a moment ago that she hasn't the time nor inclination to deal with you at present. Kindly do her _and_ the school a service." He fixed Harry with his most fearsome stare. "_Leave._"

"But, sir -- "

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, when Severus took a threatening step forward, "_Five_ minutes. The rest of you," she turned quickly to the gathering students, "off to class. There's nothing more to see here."

But when the students continued to stare timidly at the world's most famous living wizard, Severus whirled on all of them. "To _class. _NOW!" he roared, drawing his wand in a thundering rage. "The next student I see standing around idiotically will lose their House fifty points!"

_That_, at the vert least, seemed to set things in motion. Gathering their satchels and book bags, the students shot out the corridor like a canon.

"Severus," Hermione admonished in a small voice, placing a calming hand on his forearm. "Fifty points? Really, that's a bit extreme if you ask -- "

" -- Something you'd like to say, Potter?" Severus interrupted, as Harry's green eyes fell onto Hermione's hand.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Er, no, sir."

"Good," Severus snapped, moving away from Hermione and toward the Defense classroom. "Now get out of my sight."

Harry looked over at Hermione with wide, startled eyes as the Defense professor disappeared around a corner with resounding finality. "Well," he muttered, glancing at the space Severus had only just occupied, "I didn't think it was possible for him to hate me anymore than he already did." He met Hermione's eyes. "I suppose I was wrong."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said with a small amount of asperity, "_Why _are you here? You've done your fair share of stupid things over the years but _this_," she gestured emphatically around her, "coming to Hogwarts; seeking Severus out? You know he's not ready to speak with you!"

"_Severus?"_ Harry echoed, "When the hell did you get on a first name basis with him?"

"Since he and I both became professors at this school, Harry." She folded her arms and scowled. "That's when."

Harry frowned. "Look, I didn't come here to pick a fight with you, Hermione." He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "I wanted to apologize. In _person_."

"Harry," she mumbled, unfolding her arms and massaging her temples, "I've _already _forgiven you. You can't just show up here like this. There are rules to follow. Protocol. You have to know that every student is going to want your autograph now _and _that it will only be about ten more minutes before the entire castle knows you're here."

"Well, I _am_ sorry about that Hermione, but I had to see you. You've been ignoring my letters."

"I most certainly have not. If I had, Kobic would have ripped my fingers off by now."

Harry managed to crack a small smile. "Sorry. He's quite persistent, that one."

Hermione glanced down at the little white scar to the right of her thumb. "I hadn't noticed," she replied dryly.

"Hermione," Harry said again, reaching down for her hands, cold and small; he folded them in his. "_Please_, talk with me. I was a great git, all right? I know I was. Please, Hermione. I was rotten, I really was. I didn't mean any of it."

She didn't look at him. "What you're saying," she paused, "is that you didn't mean it when you implied I had betrayed you?"

Harry swallowed. He clutched her hands tightly. "I didn't mean it, Hermione. I couldn't have."

"But you said it," she said matter-of-factly. "So maybe there's some truth in that."

"I know you'd never betray me."

Hermione fixed her eyes with his. "Do you?"

He looked exasperated and pulled her close, shaking his head. "_Of course_ I do! I told you, I wasn't thinking. Please, Hermione. You know me. My temper gets the best of me at the worst times. That's all it was."

"You should really," she said mildly, "think before you speak, Harry. You -- you don't realize how your words can affect someone."

He held her out at arm's length and met her eyes. "I am _so_ sorry, Hermione."

Looking back at him, at green eyes that were wide with sincerity, Hermione felt a pang of guilt for putting him on the back burner. "Harry," she said softly, "I told you I've forgiven you." And then she added with a crack of a smile, "You're like my brother, you git. I'm stuck with you the rest of my life so I might as well enjoy it."

He laughed helplessly. "You know I'd do anything for you, Hermione."

"Besides leave me be, apparently."

He chuckled again. "Yes. Except _that_."

She shook her head. "I need to get to class, Harry. Its my first-year Ravenclaws and Slytherins. We have a practical lesson today, changing beetles into buttons."

"Sounds _fascinating_."

She punched him in the arm. "Just because you still haven't managed to master the _basics _of Transfiguration, Harry, doesn't mean it isn't fascinating." She stared at him, exasperated. "Or do you even recall how to transform a beetle into a button?"

Harry straightened his robes, standing a little taller. "I reckon I could do it if I had to."

"Sweet Merlin," she fumed, looking over at her friend in quiet wonder.

"Oh, come off it, Hermione. I got into N.E.W.T level Transfiguration when I was at school. And besides," he added, folding his arms, "you have to know a fair amount about it to become an Auror."

After a long moment, she said, "Yes. Yes, I know that, Harry. But truly, I need to get to class. The students are likely filing in at this moment and if one of them attempted a spell without me in the classroom," she shook her head and swallowed. "Minerva would have my head." Her eyes widened. "Did I ever tell you about Hufflepuff last year who accidently transfigured his classmate into a badger? Harry, it was _months_ of paperwork afterwards."

He laughed. "Sounds like something Ron would do. But you're right, I should leave. Hopefully all the students will be in their classes by the time I head down to the gate."

"Serves you right if they don't," she said primly. "For what its worth, I hope you can't make it five steps without them clinging to you like little ducklings."

"Gee, thanks, Hermione," Harry muttered.

"Get on, then," she shooed him. "I'm off to class."

But as she moved passed him, he caught her arm and pulled into a fierce embrace. "I really am sorry, Hermione. You know that I love you, right? That I'd do anything for you?"

Slowly bringing her arms up to return the embrace, Hermione thought back on the moments where she had doubted him -- his love and trust of her. But feeling the crushing grip of his arms on her back, his face buried into her neck, she realized, in that moment, at least, that he believed what he said.

She closed her eyes against him and didn't feel the need to say anything else. They were at peace. It was more than enough.

"I, uh, well, I still have your birthday present for you," Harry said as he pulled away. "I know its late...but I was worried if you received anything from me that you might...I don't know, throw it off the Astronomy Tower. I thought I'd hold onto it for safe keeping, until we were on friendlier terms, at least."

She chuckled and swatted at him. "Goodbye, Harry. Don't let the castle door hit you on your way out."

"Bye, Hermione," he smiled. "I love you, even though you're as uptight as a pregnant hippogriff."

She walked past him and headed for the staircase. "I love you, too -- even though you're a reckless ass."

000

Severus Snape stood stiffly in a now empty Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. His classes completed for the day, he stood with folded arms, staring out the arched windows that overlooked the grounds and the city of Hogsmede in the far distant horizon. It was a beautiful early autumn afternoon, the leaves on fire with an impressive palette of colors, so strikingly beautiful they almost seemed alien. It warmed him that the world could still appear so lovely and harmless after all the pain and neglect he had seen from it. Perhaps it was deceptive, to offer such beauty in a world where he knew only darkness; but the colors reached out to the most injured recesses of his soul, and for a moment, he could _feel _the beauty.

He recognized her brisk steps from the corridor and the nearest flight of steps coming toward the classroom. The corridor was always empty this time of day save for the one or two students who occasionally spoke with him during his office hours. And those, he mused with an upturn of his lip, were certainly rare, indeed. He heard the door open behind him. Unseen, his hand moved a little closer to his wand.

It was an irrational reaction. He knew it was her. But he did not turn around.

"Severus?" Her soft voice cut through the silent classroom like a warm song. "I wanted to -- er, that is, about Harry coming to find me earlier..."

His eyes focused on the leaves again. She was usually magnificently articulate.

"He didn't think -- he_ rarely_ does," she was continuing, and he heard her steps come closer to where he stood. "I just, I suppose I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

He closed his eyes, baffled by the strangeness of it all. By this sweet, caring woman that thought little of her own discomforts and on everyone else's.

It _so_ reminded him of Lily.

"I doubt you need to make apologizes on Potter's behalf," he drawled silkily, "the boy will always do what he wishes, no matter how it affects others."

"Yes," Hermione agreed sadly behind him. "I daresay you're right."

He turned around then and looked down at her. Her curly hair was pinned halfway up to keep the majority of the mass of out her perfectly pale face. Her brown eyes had that same uncertainty in them he had noticed so much as of late; but she was looking up at him with affection and genuine concern.

_Amazing._

He felt his stomach tighten.

"He really does mean well," she rushed on, "as difficult as that might seem. His intentions, for the most part, are honorable."

After a long moment, he said quietly, "I have no wish to discuss Potter, Hermione -- now, or ever."

She nodded immediately. "Of course."

And then, because it was going to come up anyway, she added, "You're coming, of course. To the Order meeting tonight."

"Yes," said Severus, relieved their discussion had turned away from Potter. "Minerva informed me this morning."

She nodded stoically. "Good. I'm glad."

He raised one dark eyebrow, regarding her quizzically.

"I don't know if you're familiar with Shell Cottage, but if you need to Side-Along Apparate, I can come and find you beforehand."

The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix had been moved not long after Voldemort's defeat. With Dumbledore dead -- the former secret keeper of the location -- there was little reason to continue meeting at Harry's residence. The possibility of betrayal and the subsequent location of headquarters reveled to any rogue Death Eaters who might have a specific vendetta or mission was too real to ignore.

Shell Cottage had been a logical choice. Aside from the Weasleys and Harry and Hermione, few even knew of its existence, such was its isolation. As it happened, Bill had only been too eager to offer his home for the sake of the Order.

Severus, still staring down at Hermione, only just realized she was waiting for an answer. "Yes," he cleared his throat. "That will be fine."

She gave him a half smile. "Okay."

Looking down at her, at her soft, full, lips, and the prominent shadow of her collarbone, he felt his throat constrict involuntarily. She had never been anything to look at during her formative years -- _not_, he reminded himself, that he observed female students in such a lecherous manner; but the quiet beauty standing before him wasn't something he could deny, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

He felt certain it was something even she, herself, was unaware of.

"Shall I come to your office at eight o'clock, then?" Hermione was asking, even as he tore his eyes from her perfect mouth.

"That will do," he replied with similar simplicity, locking his gaze on her.

She smiled again. "Okay," she said softly. "I suppose I'll see you at dinner."

And before Severus could nod or acknowledge her in any way, she had turned and left the classroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

_Damnable Gryffindors._

000

Hermione scurried quickly along the second-floor corridor to the office of Severus Snape, pulling the skirts of her robes slightly upward so she didn't trip. She passed the suit of armor without a second glance, swept around Moaning Murtle's lavatory, and then turned south. She stopped in front of the great oak door, chest heaving from the brisk journey from the tower, and rapped quietly with her knuckles.

Not three seconds later, the door swung inward, revealing the tall, dark figure of Severus Snape.

"Shall we?" he drawled, raising one dark brow.

Hermione stood aside and Severus closed the door behind him. They began the walk to the main entrance and grounds in silence; the only sound heard was the echo of their boots on the surface of cold stone floor. Severus glanced over his shoulder every few paces to make sure she was keeping up with him.

The autumn evening was brisk and crisply chilled. Walking over leaves that had only just begun to make their annual descent to the earth, the wind rustled boldly through their robes.

"Severus," said Hermione into the cool autumn night, looking out over the backwoods as they neared the Apparation point, "could I ask you something?"

In the gray darkness of the evening, Severus' lip curled. "I quite _despise_ sentences that begin in such a way; however, I am certain you will persist until I acquiesce."

Hermione chuckled once, pulling her wool cloak more tightly around her and adjusting the light of her wand. "Oh, I don't think I'm _quite_ as insufferable as I once was." She laughed to herself, watching the silhouettes of the the treetops wave on the breeze. "But I wouldn't worry, Severus. It's not anything personal -- well, not in the way I think you're assuming it is."

He swept quickly down the hill. "Your back peddle is _less _than comforting."

She laughed again, helplessly. "Well, I suppose I should quit with all the ambiguity and just say what's on my mind."

"As I recall," Severus said dryly, side-stepping around a large boulder. "That was never an issue for you in the past."

She laughed again, but then grew somber as she jogged to catch him up. "How ... how well do you know the Malfoys? Was Lucius ever your ... ," she moved her hand through the cool night, as though it might help her find the right word, "... your friend?"

Severus snorted as he made his way to the gate. "Lucius did not entertain the notion of _friends_. And even if he did, I doubt I would have been so _fortunate _to be considered part of that particular circle."

Hermione frowned. "Didn't you go to school with him?"

"I did," he affirmed, holding the gate open so she could pass before him, "though Lucius was several years my senior, and wanted nothing to do with a half-blood like myself. Certainly not one of such limited means and virtually no connections."

"Oh," Hermione said slowly. "I suppose, I mean, I always assumed the two of you had been close. You were both in Slytherin; you were both, well, ... "

Severus stopped short. "Death Eaters?"

His voice was rich and many-layered. Hermione felt the hairs on her arms stand on end. She wasn't entirely certain it had anything to do with the chilly night air.

"Yes," she said softly, fixing his endless black eyes with her own. "Death Eaters."

It was a long moment before Severus said quietly, "No, Hermione. We were not friends."

She nodded once, seemingly trying to wrap her mind around that bit of information.

"I am curious; however," he added, leading the way down the dark pathway, "why you would take such an interest in Lucius."

Hermione smiled thinly. "It's not an interest in _him _per se, Severus, it's the whole family; Draco and Narcissa included. They have simply disappeared."

He stopped in the center of the path and turned back to her. In the blinding light of his wand, his right eyebrow lifted the tiniest fraction. "Disappeared?"

Hermione stole her hand up to rub the back of her neck, sighing grimly. "Yes, disappeared. No one has seen any of the Mafoys since just after the Battle of Hogwarts. Malfoy Manor has been abandoned." She rubbed her face. "The rumors are so rampant that I'm not even sure _what_ to believe anymore. Were they killed? Did they relocate to start over again? Or has Lucius given into his darkest beliefs about blood-purity and been waiting in hiding to do Merlin-knows-what?" She sighed again, tightening her cloak around her throat. "No one really knows."

Severus regarded her carefully for a long moment, his dark eyes nearly black under the night sky. He shook his head, "I was unaware they were missing."

"I should have told you," Hermione admitted. "It didn't cross my mind again until just now. I was hoping that if you had a past connection to Lucius you might know if he had any type of contingency plan; where he might have hidden in the event Vol -- er, the Dark Lord didn't succeed, or if you knew of any of his contacts."

Severus blinked. After a long moment -- after the wind pulled and tugged at his long, black, hair -- he swallowed. "Lucius was never particularly fond of me," he said in a tone so dry she could hear twigs snapping in it. "I was his opposite in almost every way. He was a favorite among our House; rich, well-spoken, confident. He deemed to tolerate my presence once I joined ranks with the Death Eaters; but that was all."

He looked up, glancing briefly in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. "Once he discovered my ... _skill_ with the Dark Arts, that toleration became less of a burden, I think." He hesitated. "When I became Albus' murderer and subsequently the Dark Lord's favorite, I was certain he would have killed me if given the chance."

Hermione's brown eyes widened. "Kill you?" she exclaimed. "Simply because you were the Dark Lord's favorite?"

Severus smirked. "Is that so difficult to believe?"

She snorted. "No. Just illogical. If he managed to kill you, I can only imagine how Vol - er, the Dark Lord would have reacted."

The eyebrow quirked again. "Quite."

Hermione looked up at him. "You disagree?"

Severus shrugged. "I was a half-blood. The Dark Lord knew this. He may have cursed Lucius for simple insubordination, but nothing more. He certainly wouldn't have done anything so maverick as to avenge me." He cocked his head and didn't blink. "Or have you forgotten, Hermione, of what transpired in the Shrieking Shack?"

She felt her breath catch. She didn't think he had known she had been there. "No," she said softly. "No, I hadn't forgotten."

He regarded her sharply. "Then suffice it to believe that the Dark Lord wouldn't have concerned himself a great deal over my death in the event Lucius killed me. It would have been an irritation, a setback; nothing more."

She looked back up at him, her robes swirling around her feet in the night wind. It was, she reflected ruefully, one of the few occasions where she simply had no idea what to say. And what _could_ she say? _Don't worry, Severus. I'm sure Voldemort loved you in his own way -- even though he attempted to kill you like the ruddy coward he truly was._

"Severus," she started, "I'm so very..."

_- Sorry that you've led this horrible, cruel life? You deserve better. So much better._

"That is, -- "

"Come," he interrupted her. "We have wasted enough time."

Grave and desolate, walking the rest of the way down the little path, Hermione followed somberly in his wake. At length they reached the Apparation Point and Severus stepped close to her. "I trust you have never splinched anyone before."

"Of course not," she retorted, stung. "I'm perfectly capable of -- "

He took another step toward her and she could have _sworn _the air crackled between them, such was their closeness. And with the quiet matter-of-factness of one who has done it a thousand times, Severus reached out to her, linking his arm firmly to hers. Looking down at her, black hair falling forward and obscuring his face, he said simply, "When you are ready, of course."

Hermione blinked. The sensation of his arm holding hers tightly, the shift in his perfectly black eyes to something softer and infinitely less stern left her feeling a bit off balance. For a long moment, she did nothing but stare at him. And then, feeling keenly like a prize idiot, she brandished her wand and turned on the spot, pulling Severus with her into complete nothingness.

000

Minerva McGonagall was standing at the center of the extended drawing room of Shell Cottage, gazing around at the assembled witches and wizards. Slightly tardy from their impromptu conversation about the Malfoys, Hermione ducked toward the corner of the room, taking a seat next to Ron, while Severus stood in the doorway, slipping into the momentary shelter of the shadows.

Looking around at the interior of Shell Cottage, Hermione swallowed thickly, shaking her head.

" -- Who has the minutes from the last meeting?" Minerva was asking, grey eyes scanning the enlarged room. "Elphias? Good. Read over them, if you please."

Elphias Doge rummaged through several pieces of loose parchment until he found what he was looking for, and then, clearing his throat, stood.

Ron leaned over to Hermione. "Blimey, Hermione," he whispered, lips at her ear. "I was getting ready to send a search party. Since when have you ever been late to_ anything_?"

"_Honestly_, Ron," Hermione stage-whispered, casting him a baleful stare. "We were _five _minutes late. And you know perfectly well that Doge will go on for another ten minutes about the previous meeting."

"_You_ were the one that said those reviews were important," he muttered, glancing curiously at the doorway where Severus stood perfectly still. "Er, so you came over with Snape, then?" he asked, leaning forward to get a better view of him. "How is he? Still as horrible as ever? Or -- "

Hermione cut him off with a loud _shush!_ when she felt the prickling sensation of being watched by the very man whom Ron was making reference to.

"Quiet, Ron," she urged him, trying to focus on Doge's dreadfully boring report. Across the room, seated next to Ginny, Harry was staring rather obviously at Severus. And through Doge's wheezing Hermione sincerely tried to focus, though her mind and her gaze kept wandering to the dark man in the shadows.

"That will do, Elphias," Minerva said kindly after a painfully long duration, interrupting the old man. "Thank you for your meticulous note-keeping."

Ron leaned toward Hermione, his chin resting in his hand with eyes glazed over dully. "Is it possible, do you think, for someone to die of boredom?"

Hermione repressed a smile. "You survived History of Magic, Ron," she whispered, "I'm sure you can manage a few minutes of Doge's reports."

"Says you."

Minerva, clearing her throat, walked again into the center of the room. "This meeting of the Order of the Phoenix will now commence. We are gathered tonight for a few points of business, the first of which I would like to address this very moment." She turned to the threshold. "Severus?"

There was a heavy silence, and then, with arms still folded, Severus walked gracefully into the center of the room, coming up silently next to the Headmistress. His eyes swept the group - looking for what, Hermione wasn't certain - and met hers for a moment as they passed.

"I am certain you have all been made aware of Severus' ... return to society," Minerva said primly. "I will not patronize this group by pretending you do not. However," she raised her eyebrow significantly, "as Severus was presumed dead and his records taken off the Order's roster, he will need to be formally inducted once more before we continue. In addition, I hope this induction brings to recognition the endless sacrifices Severus has made on the Order's behalf -- "

"Minerva," Severus cut in sharply, fixing her with his dark gaze. "That is quite enough." And then he added more quietly, and Hermione had to strain her ears to hear him, "But thank you."

Minerva stared silently at him for a moment and Hermione saw a soft, maternal smile appear on the Headmistress's lips.

"Very well, Severus," Minerva said at length. And then she turned to the room at large and asked in a louder voice, "All in favor of inducting Severus Snape into the Order of the Phoenix please manifest it with your wands."

Hermione reached into her robes to extricate her vinewood as she saw each of the witches and wizards in the room do the same in turn. Harry was the first to mutter the spell; his holly wand spitting sparks of blue light to the ceiling as he held it high over his head. Shell Cottage looked momentarily like a muggle fireworks display, colors and sparks sizzling and crackling through the small space. Hermione's eyes found Severus as she held her wand over her head, and from the corner of her peripheral she saw Hagrid visibly struggling with his pink umbrella, his huge face twisted with uncertainty.

The death of Dumbledore, she knew, had been particularly hard on Hagrid. She suspected that despite the truth of what transpired during the end of her sixth year, Hagrid would never be able to fully forgive Severus for killing the Headmaster, his closest and dearest friend. But looking over at him, watching his beard quiver as he silently chocked back a few massive tears, Hagrid raised his pink umbrella to the ceiling -- nearly jamming it with the endpoint -- and cast his affirmative to accept Severus into the Order.

"Wonderful. The motion is carried," Minerva said happily, pocketing her wand into her forest-green robes and patting the Defense professor kindly on the arm. "Now, Severus, please find a seat as we still have much to discuss."

"Have you talked with him much?" Ron whispered, leaning close to her as Severus swept by them. Hermione didn't dare to look up and meet his eyes with Ron leaning over her.

"Ron, we both serve on the same staff," she said with a hint of impatience in her voice. "Of course I've spoken with him."

"You_ know_ what I mean," Ron huffed with exasperation. "Has he said anything of what he's been doing? If he knows anything about any of the Death Eaters that are still out there?"

"I suspect that if he _does_ know something, Ronald, he will inform the Order tonight."

At that very moment, Dedalus Diggle scurried in front of her and Ron, blocking her view of the Headmistress with a very horrid, purple top hat.

"Tea?" The old man asked kindly, hovering two teacups skillfully with his wand.

Ron waved him off, but Hermione smiled at the older wizard. "Yes, please."

She took the warm cup and saucer once she finished pocketing her wand and, blowing on the amber liquid, tentatively lowered her lips to ascertain how hot the tea was.

Severus had returned to his previous spot in the shadows of the entryway, despite Minerva's request that he sit. Even leaning against the side post he was still tall, nearly a head taller than anyone in the room with, perhaps, the exception of a few of the Weasleys and, of course, Hagrid. At length, when she realized she had been staring for some time, Hermione forced herself to look away, eyes dropping to her tea.

"Now," Minerva was saying, "Harry? Ron? As our staff liaisons with the Auror Department, do you have any news to report at present?"

Harry's eyes found Ron's from across the room and Ron waved him forward. "Nothing the Order isn't already familiar with," Harry said after clearing his throat and standing. "Pretty much everything in the _Prophet_ these past few weeks has been accurate."

"Shocking," someone muttered. A few chuckles and snickers ensued.

Harry nodded, though he frowned. "The recent muggle deaths that have been reported in the _London Times_ appear to be unexplained, at least as far as the muggles are concerned. 'Death of natural causes', they're calling it."

"Yeah," Ron pipped in, "is it natural for a seventeen-year-old girl to die without previous medical history? Or for three twenty-eight-year-old men to drop dead of their own accord?"

"Death Eaters," mumbled Hagrid.

Harry nodded again. "Ron and I were sent to investigate. Definitely the killing curse."

Ginny paled beside him. "Well, at least it wasn't the Cruciatus. I suppose that's something to be grateful for."

"Is there any idea who might be behind the murders?" Bill asked.

"What of the Malfoys?" Hestia Jones spoke up, her rosy cheeks as pink as ever. "Has there been any news on that front? I don't buy for a single second that the entire family was murdered."

This time, it was Ron that spoke. "The Floo in Malfoy Manor has been monitored since the Battle of Hogwarts; no one has come in or out that way for seven years. Harry and I have been in touch with a few of the Ministry's international contacts, but there haven't been any leads." He ran a hand through his ginger hair. "The Auror Department is beginning to wonder if its worth using Ministry funds to track down what they feel is a lost cause."

"Rubbish," said Aberforth Dumbledore. His great beard and hair appeared wilder than ever to Hermione. "Tracking down missing Death Eaters has suddenly become a lost cause to the Ministry?"

"For the Malfoys," said Ron seriously. "It appears to be."

"It _is_ still possible," said Arthur Weasley in a kind tone, "that they were killed, Hestia. With their allegiances in question -- after everything Harry told us that transpired in the Forbidden Forest -- it isn't unlikely that word got out Lucius was doing what he could to save his son _and_ his own skin. Unaccounted Death Eaters could have easily tracked them down and killed them, especially if they used any old hideouts or shelters."

"Lucius isn't so foolish as that," said Severus quietly.

All heads in the room turned to look at the man in black.

Clearing his throat, he continued silkily, "While Arthur does have a good argument, _if_ any unaccounted for Death Eaters had killed the family, I am most certain they would have shown off their deed by displaying the bodies in some public location or something equally as morbid." His black glinted in the low light of the room. "They would have been made as an example for those who betrayed the Dark Lord."

A heavy silence hung in the room for several seconds. Hermione suppressed a chill.

"But where could they have gone, Severus?" Molly asked, coming in from the kitchen where a delicious aroma waffed in invitingly.

Severus looked to the oldest Weasley child. "Has there been any activity at Gringotts?"

"No withdrawals have been made from the family account," Bill answered with a grim smile. "The goblins have been told to notify me immediately if there has been any change in their inheritance."

Severus nodded. "Something you may want to check up on. From my experience, goblins will do little to help a witch or wizard unless it benefits them directly."

Hermione banished her tea, thinking of Griphook and the Sword of Gryffindor.

"No offense, Professor Snape," Bill said cautiously, "but we've never had any instances of goblins not following orders."

Shaking her head, Hermione spoke up for the first time since the meeting had begun. "No, Severus is right. Back when ... ," she hesitated. She hated bringing up anything from her search of the Horcruxes with Harry and Ron in front of others. It inevitably led to unnecessary questions and retelling of events she rather left buried. "... when Griphook was here with us ... seven years ago, just before the Battle of Hogwarts, he wouldn't help us without payment."

"Hermione," said Bill kindly, "Griphook considered the Sword of Gryffindor every bit as much as his property as any Gryffindor would. Goblins forged the blade."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, Bill," said Hermione. "But what I was referring to was his emphatic belief of wizarding arrogance. Goblins have good reason to dislike wizards; they were treated brutally in the past."

Neville Longbottom peered around Hagrid with a quiet grin on his round face. "Is this another attempt at S.P.E.W.?"

Ron laughed loudly beside her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and snickered. "No, Neville. It's simply the truth. Griphook mentioned several times how he detested that wizards had the right to carry a wand, while goblins did not."

"Goblins don't need a wand to do magic," Luna Lovegood said thoughtfully.

"While true, Miss Lovegood," said Severus, "It is irrelevant. Goblins believe the wizarding race is set high above that of their own."

"Rubbish," muttered George, playing with the ginger hair around the hole where his ear should have been.

"Quite," sneered Severus, "but it is, nevertheless, a widespread feeling amongst goblins."

"Perhaps then, Bill," Minerva said, rubbing her chin in deep thought, "you ought to keep a closer eye on the Malfoy account. It is better to be overly cautious than regretful."

Bill nodded, though he looked skeptical. "Of course, Minerva."

"Good. Now, as it is," the Headmistress continued, "the recent muggle attacks appear to be random and unrelated. However," she paused significantly, "I would prefer to play on the side of caution. If you can find a reason to avoid going somewhere after dark, do it. If you are going about your business and there is someone you can take with you, bring them. Do not put yourselves unnecessarily at risk. _Think_. I can guarantee that if you find yourselves at the mercy of any Death Eater, they will show you no sympathy."

Unsurprised, Hermione sighed and looked out the window into the black nothingness. Fixing her gaze ahead, trying to make out the rocks and grass and the overlook she would have seen during the day, she noticed Severus from the corner of her eye. He was watching her with that stern, calculating look. Turning to look at him fully, he immediately directed his attention elsewhere.

"Are there any additional rounds of business that need to be addressed tonight?" Minerva asked. Her voice, Hermione noted with a quiet pang in her heart, sounded frail and weary.

When the room was silent, Minerva nodded. "Meeting dismissed, then."

The sound of chairs grounding along the hardwood floors and subsequent _pops! _as they were vanished, filled the cottage. Ron stood up and stretched loudly.

"Long day?" Hermione asked, looking up at him with a smug grin.

"Yeah," Ron muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I swear, I remember the days when I complained about working _forty_ hours a week," he snickered, and his lop-sided grin spread over his freckled face. "I'd give my wand arm right about now to have those days back."

Hermione chuckled. "So you've exhausted all your perks at the Ministry, have you? It doesn't matter any longer that you're the famous Ronald Weasley?"

Ron scowled. "Oh, come off it, Hermione. I never took advantage of the system."

She folded her arms and fixed him a stern look.

"All right! All right," Ron relented, his hands up in the air. "So maybe my lunch breaks were a_ little_ longer than an hour. But honestly, I feel as though it's deserved, Hermione. Do you remember how we practically starved as we hiked through the country in that damn tent?" He rubbed his stomach dramatically. "I'd say the government owes me."

She swatted at him, and he jumped back, almost knocking Neville off his feet.

"Hi Hermione," the round-faced man said shyly. "I hope I didn't embarrass you during the meeting when I mentioned S.P.E.W."

Hermione waved him off. "Ten years ago I would have fought you on it." She smiled and moved toward the wall as the rest of the Weasleys scooted past, patting her arm and rubbing the top of her head obnoxiously as they did so. "While I still find their living conditions deplorable, I've accepted that they don't necessarily want to be free."

"Woah," said Ron dramatically. "Is this the first time you've ever admitted to being wrong?"

Hermione folded her arms. "When else have I ever been wrong, Ronald?"

The tall ginger-haired man furrowed his brow. He leaned down and forward, looking her in the eye. "Good point."

While Neville and Ron began a rather in-depth discussion of the current Quidditch standings, Hermione's eyes swept the crowd for Severus. He was near the threshold, conversing with Arthur. There in the half-light, Hermione looked over him. The coal-black hair, the perfectly still shoulders, the fine-boned fingers. It seemed incredible she had once thought him a 'greasy bat'.

And hearing the sound of the waves pulsate through the house, Hermione found herself suddenly anxious. It was silly, she knew, to think that Shell Cottage wasn't completely safe. But she couldn't help the flood of memories that assaulted her when she thought back to that night, seven years ago, when she had been half-dragged and half-carried here by Ron. The madness in Bellatrix LeStrange's eyes wasn't something that was easily forgotten. She shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to another and looked up and saw Severus.

Their eyes met across the room.

And then, feeling as though the walls of Shell Cottage might literally implode on her, Hermione swallowed and quickly rushed out of the room.

The crisp evening from earlier had turned into a deep chill. Gripping her wand tightly, Hermione made her way to the end of the small garden. It was with a stab of guilt, a literal pain in the left of her chest, that she stopped by the little mound of red earth. The smooth, white tombstone looked gray in the starlight. And choking back a sob that was slapping up at the base of her throat, Hermione read the brief inscription.

_Here lies Dobby, a free elf._

"What do you think you are doing?"

The voice, she knew, belonged to Severus. She kept her eyes closed. The voice sounded closer.

"Were you not just in the same meeting as I? Where Minerva specifically instructed each of us to not wander idiotically alone -- "

" -- I had to get out of there."

The waves pounded against the cliff-side. There was a pause, a hesitation. "Explain yourself."

Hermione slowly opened her eyes, willing the stagnant tears to remain in place. "We came here after Malfoy Manor. After ... B-Bellatrix tortured me." She looked out off the cliff to the seaside she couldn't see. "I sometimes see her face when I close my eyes. It's difficult for me to understand how someone could have such ... _hate_ for another human being."

In the dark night, Severus gripped his wand tightly.

"Ron had to carry me in here. I couldn't even walk. Sometimes, when I let my mind wander, I remember the fear of that night. I remember this place. It's completely illogical, I know. Shell Cottage is protected under the Fidelius charm. _Logically, _I'm perfectly safe here. It's not the Manor." She shook her head, as though that action, alone, might help. "But I, I can't help but associate it with what happened. It's ... it's silly of me."

"Hermione," his deep voice said softly, "an..._experience _like what you have just described is anything but 'silly'".

She nodded, looking away from him. "I know. Still, I shouldn't feel this way." She bowed her head, ashamed. "I sometimes hate being a Gryffindor."

Severus looked down at her, startled. "Why?"

"I'm not brave."

"Don't -- "

" -- I was terrified that night. Beyond words. Beyond _anything._ And Gryffindors," she snorted, "well, they aren't supposed to be afraid, are they? They're suppose to be like Harry or Ron, who don't even blink when something dangerous comes along."

Severus scowled. "If you followed the thought processes of those two dunderheads, I daresay the three of you would have been killed years ago."

"_Severus._"

"Fear is a human emotion, Hermione. No one is exempt from that." And there was a gallows trace of amusement in his deep voice when he added, "Gryffindors included."

Hermione sighed. "I know."

"Good. Now, if you're quite done with your self-indulgent pity, I should like to return to Hogwarts before frostbite sets in."

Hermione nodded and rubbed her eyes, unconsciously drawing her cloak closer to her neck. "Yes. Of course." And then, after blinking rapidly for a few seconds, she gestured to the little mound of dirt.

"That elf saved my life."

Before Severus could look back at her, he heard the _crack!_ as she Disapperated.

The crash of the waves below sounded around him. Lighting his wand, Severus looked down at the smooth stone wordlessly. He wasn't sure how long he stood over the little grave as the cold wind pulled and tugged at his hair and robes. But he closed his eyes for a long moment, rolling his wand over the smooth palm of his hand. And then, expertly brandishing his ebony wand, and without understanding completely why, he conjured a single, red rose.

He closed his eyes again. He breathed. He stood, afraid to move for a moment, that he might be seen from the cottage. And then he turned on the spot.

"Thank you."

* * *

_A/N: I'm sure you're all, by now, rather tired at my pathetic attempts to apologize for my delays in updating. Suffice it to say that I truly AM trying to update more quickly. The muse comes and goes - and when it's gone.... it's gone. There were several reviews for the last chapter, so I must thank you all for taking a moment of your time to let me know what you think. The most frequent comment I've seen (correct me if I'm wrong) is that the majority of readers are enjoying the pacing of the relationship of Severus and Hermione. I couldn't be more happy with the feedback in that regard. Stories that rush Severus and Hermione together by chapter 3, in my opinion, don't truly explore the characters and the history. Ah, and the Malfoys.... we will get to them, eventually. Please take a moment, if you will, and let me know how you're liking the story thus far. Comments on the plot in general would be lovely. _

- Liz


	10. Chapter 10

_"For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin.....  
But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt before life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life."_

-Alfred Souza

***Warning*** This chapter contains a few graphic images (NOT sexually related). If this type of writing bothers you, please do not read any further.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Hermione Granger was deep in thought.

She had been sitting for the better part of an hour in a leather chair beside the arched Gothic windows of her quarters, staring quietly out at the gloomy, Scottish weather. Feet tucked carefully beneath her, she ignored the general chaos of her room. Black owl feathers were scattered here and there, an uncountable number of texts lay haphazardly across her work desk and on the furniture surrounding the crackling hearth. A mess of newspaper sat just beside her, the front page falling off her lap. The headline blared:

_**RANDOM MUGGLE DEATHS? GRISLY MURDERS SHOCK SURREY **_

_SURREY -- During the early morning hours of October 11th, six Muggles were found dead in Surrey, near the West Saxon shire. The bodies were discovered in a woodland area by local gardeners. According to the gardeners' descriptions, the bodies had been there for quite some time, all badly decomposing. Upon closer inspection from the Auror Department, it is clear that Dark magic was 'most certainly involved'. Initial reports that the murders had been committed by fellow Muggles (so assumed by the graphic state of all six bodies from what appear to be Muggle weapons) have therefore been termed false._

_Rumors continue to fly regarding the continued organization of the Death Eaters - followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. While some at Ministry claim the organization died with You-Know-Who, others aren't as optimistic._

___"There are still unaccounted for Death Eaters," said an Auror who wished to remain anonymous. "But we're not really allowed to talk about it. Suffice it to say the Ministry has implemented new security plans that we obviously can't discuss. Everything that can be done to protect our community is being done."_

___The issue remains, however, if the Wizarding community is still under threat from said organization. The Ministry, it appears, is playing along the side of caution. Much like the decree issued two years prior to the defeat of You-Know-Who, the office of the Ministry advises all witches and wizards to not leave their homes alone. _

___"It is a matter of common sense," said Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Be cautious after nightfall. Review the security arrangements around your homes. Create security questions for your family. Rest assured that the Ministry, in conjunction with the Auror Department, is exhausting all available resources to determine if, indeed, Death Eaters are still at large and if they pose a threat to Wizarding society. In the meantime, please issue any precautions you find necessary."_

Hermione sighed, leaning her forehead against the cool window, watching the evening autumn rain fall steadily outside. It had been a long week and she hadn't been sleeping properly.

_I really should go see Poppy. Dreamless Sleep isn't too troublesome for her to prescribe._

She was just ready to abandon the comfort of her soft chair to grade a pile of essays when a sputter sounded from the hearth. She jumped, startled.

"Oi, Hermione!" shouted Ron, his face appearing within the coals of the fire, slightly contorted from the licking flames. "You there?"

Startled as she was, she still found some sense of reproach in her voice as she scrambled out of her chair. "Yes, Ronald. Of course I'm here. Honestly, do you have to shout so loudly?"

Hermione could have sworn the coals shrugged. "Sorry if I scared you. What you doing tonight?"

Hermione padded across the room, circumventing the coffee table to sit on the sofa across the hearth. "Grading essays. I'm dreadfully behind."

Ron's crackling face chuckled. "Blimey, Hermione. I'd say hell _has _frozen over. Or," he continued thoughtfully, cocking his burning face to the side, "it could simply be that you're light years ahead of your other responsibilities but _still_ think you're behind. Don't think I don't remember your frantic ramblings at school."

"I don't ramble, Ron."

"Ah, well," said Ron dismissively. "That's neither here nor there, I suppose. But Hermione, as _lovely_ as debating your overly preparedness is, I didn't stop by for a late night chat. You saw the _Prophet _today?"

Hermione swallowed, a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Yes, I saw it."

"Well, it's more than just stories of disappearances and odd accidents now, isn't it? It's almost every day that there's a death or two."

Hermione frowned. "What's your point, Ron?"

He appeared to consider his answer. "Harry is on holiday with Ginny in France for the rest of the week. Thought it'd do him some good to clear his head a bit, right? Anyway, the Auror offices received a tip of a disturbance in Liverpool tonight. Watson and Bagley are already out on assignment so I can't bring one of them. Anyway, I thought I'd ask if wanted to tag along. It'd be just like old times, eh?"

Hermione hesitated. It was true that she had gone with Harry and Ron in the past on Death Eater raids. The Ministry didn't _exactly_ smile on an outsider interfering with investigations, but being who she was, nothing was generally said on the matter. That, and Hermione had assisted in more captures of Death Eaters than many on the entire Department.

The Ministry liked to be cautious, but they weren't, generally speaking, foolish.

And the weeks and years after her parents' murder saw her more involved with the Ministry than was likely sane. But for her, it had been entirely selfish. It was never about passion or what was right.

Her sole reason for going with Harry and Ron had been hopes of revenge. It was that simple.

What Ron offered was tempting, to fall back into the easy pattern of her once shining crusade. It was hard to forget those feelings just because it had ended. But thinking of her promise to Severus, Ron's offer smacked of disloyalty.

"I don't think I can, Ron," Hermione muttered slowly, looking to the floor. "I really have loads of paperwork I need to do."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione. You and I _both_ know you're not behind. And besides, I need someone to go with me. Ministry protocol."

Working on her lower lip, Hermione shook her head. "I really can't, Ron. I made a promise that I wouldn't go looking for Death Eaters."

"A _promise_?" Ron's would-be eyebrows shot skyward. "A promise to who?"

"To Severus."

"Snape!" Ron exclaimed. "What on earth would you go and make a promise like that to him for? And why would he care anyway?"

"He was once a Death Eater, Ron," Hermione said defensively. "He told me that he would try to help me with finding information about my parents if I promised to not go off on my own to look for Death Eaters."

Ron frowned smugly, considering her words. "Yeah, well, _still._"

"Though," she tapped her chin pensively, suddenly deep in thought. "I wonder ... "

Ron's frown deepened. "What?"

"Well," said Hermione, folding her feet up underneath her. "I wonder if Severus would come with us. That way I wouldn't be breaking my promise - I wouldn't be running off on my own; I'd be with him."

"No way!" Ron shouted, and a few coals shot out of the grate. "Are you off your rocker? The old Bat hated me - you _know_ he did! And really, I know he's a hero and all, but I don't fancy myself striking up a conversation with the man. I barely even got _by_ Potions - what else would we talk about?" he snorted. "I doubt the Half-Blood Prince follows Quidditch."

"No," Hermione agreed. "No, I don't think he does. But Ron, let's be realistic. This isn't a lunch date; you don't have to speak with him. Besides, Severus would be far better to bring along anyway. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"Yeah, well, I don't want to say that I'm terrified of the man, but ... "

"Honestly, Ron. We're all adults. You're simply being prejudice. Now would you like me to ask him, or not?" She folded her arms. "Otherwise, it looks like you'll be breaking protocol."

"Bloody hell," Ron cursed, and Hermione saw a hand appear in the coals to rub what would be his ginger hair. "Do you really believe the bloke will come?"

Shrugging, she replied, "There's no way we'll know unless I ask."

"Fine," Ron relented with an air of exasperation. "Go and ask. But hurry up, will you? I should have left ages ago. Just meet by the visitor's entrance to the Ministry in ten minutes if you can come. We'll Apparate to Liverpool from there. I've got the general location written down."

Hermione nodded as Ron's face disappeared from the flames. A few seconds later she was gathering her traveling cloak from the coat hanger, pulling her wool socks high against her shins, and stepping into her boots. She drew her wand from inside her robes and dimmed the lights, shutting the heavy door to her quarters behind her as she set off to Severus' rooms.

It was well past curfew and Hermione's steps echoed through the empty corridor as she headed down a set of spiral stairs. _Will he want to come?_ she wondered, lifting her skirts as she quickly descended. The prospect of going out on a raid with Ron was making her hands clammy with anticipation. What was the worst thing Severus could say to her? No?

At least she was being honest with him, honoring her own word.

Half-running as she was, it didn't take long before she came to his private quarters. Lifting a hand, she rapped quietly on the door. It was only a few moments later that the door opened in front of her, and Severus stepped out from behind it, fully clothed.

"What is wrong?"

Hermione blinked. "Er, nothing."

Severus frowned. "Then what are you doing standing outside the threshold of my rooms at this ungodly hour?"

"Er, well ... "

Suddenly, the idea to have Severus accompany her and Ron seemed foolish in the extreme. Everything in their past conversations led Hermione to believe that Severus absolutely loathed Ron. There was also the small matter that she was merely a professor, not an Auror. A scholar. She wasn't meant to be gallivanting after Ron simply because he had a lead and needed someone to accompany him. She had classes to teach in the morning, students to attend to.

"Well?" Severus demanded. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Er," Hermione swallowed. "Ron, ... he just flooed me, you see. He said that he had a tip from the Auror Department and needed someone to go with him to investigate. Harry's out of the country and the other Aurors on call were out chasing leads of their own." She fidgeted with her wand. "He asked me to go with him, but I hadn't forgot the promise I made to you last summer. I was - I was wondering, well, _hoping_ really, that you would come, and uh, let me go along, as well."

Severus stared down at her silently. Unsurprisingly, she couldn't read his expression. Was it anger? Annoyance? Curiosity? She may as well have been staring at a stone for all the good trying to ascertain his reaction was doing.

At length he said, and there was a hint of surprise in his voice, "You came to ask permission?"

Hermione nodded. "I gave you my word. I would never go against that."

He seemed to consider this briefly. "Give me a moment. I need to fetch my cloak and inform Minerva we will be leaving the grounds."

The door slammed unceremoniously in her face.

Despite the gesture, however, Hermione grinned widely. In an instant her memories took her back to when she had hunted Death Eaters mercilessly. Those were her darkest and most unforgiving hours, she knew; but the prospect of going out and investigating, perhaps skirting the slim chance that _something_ might lead her to discover her parents' murderers, well, that left her with a dark sense of satisfaction.

Severus returned a moment later, throwing a black cloak around his broad shoulders. "Where are we to meet Weasley?" He had already broken into a crisp walk, heading for the main entrance of the castle.

"The visitor's entrance to the Ministry," Hermione supplied, dashing a few feet to keep up with him.

Severus nodded. They swept past the four giant hour glasses a moment later. "What did he mention of this 'disturbance'"?

Hermione shook her head, pausing in front of the double oak doors as Severus unlocked them with his wand. "He didn't delve into specifics. He seemed rather adamant that we hurry. I'm sure he'll fill us in the moment we -- "

" -- Weasley is aware I am accompanying you?"

Hermione frowned. "Yes. I - I told him that I couldn't come unless you were with me."

Severus didn't deign to respond, rather, he stood back with an arm gestured to the huge doors as Hermione walked in front of him, quickly making her way down to the Apparation point beyond the gate. They arrived soon enough, pulling hoods over their heads, dodging through the pounding rain, and then Severus stepped close to Hermione, holding his arm out for her.

She stared at it blankly for a moment, blinking slowly as raindrops fell off her eyelashes. "But, I don't need to Side-Along. I know how to get to the Ministry -- "

" -- _If_ you wish to come along on what is likely to be a rather fool-hearty mission, Hermione; you will do everything I request of you."

She paused, remembering what Harry had told her about his doomed mission to the cave with Dumbledore, just before he had died. _He made me promise to do everything he said, Hermione. I had to promise to leave him and save myself, if that's what it came down to. I had to force him to drink that awful potion._

Suddenly apprehensive, Hermione suppressed a chill. That had been a mission to retrieve a Horcrux. Certainly, that had to be infinitely more dangerous that a mild disturbance in Liverpool. Severus would never make her promise those awful things, would he?

_If he did, I doubt I'd have the fortitude to go along with it. I could never just ... leave him, or Ron. _

A second later she grabbed his arm. And then, instantaneously, she felt the uncomfortable pull at her navel as she was whisked away into nothingness.

* * *

Hermione stumbled as she landed. She was silently grateful for the sturdy looking building just off to her left; she quickly made her away over, leaning her arm against it as she breathed a little raggedly.

Side-Along Apparation never was one of her strengths when it was _she _that was the one being pulled along blindly. When she Apparated herself or held on to another, she could feel the control, and could guide herself rather easily. But being yanked along blindly into nothingness still felt her feeling somewhat off balanced.

"You ought to practice Apparating," Severus drawled behind her. "I assumed you mastered that skill while at school, along with the rest of your peers."

"I _did,_" Hermione retorted, still getting a handle on her breathing. "I just don't do well with Side-Along, is all."

"Ah. Of course," Severus said.

Hermione was spared, thankfully, from having any further comment on the matter; a tall man approached from the east corner of the building.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, walking into the pool of light from a street lamp, illuminating his face and ginger hair. "Is that you?"

"Who else would it be, Weasley?" Severus snapped, as Ron held his wand out at length.

"Oh, uh, Professor Snape," Ron said uncertainly, eyeing the man in front of him. "I wasn't sure that you'd be able to come."

Severus sighed, glancing over at Hermione, who was finally standing tall again. "Let us dispense from the unpleasantries, Weasley. Where are we headed?"

Ron pulled a small piece of parchment from his Auror's robes, lighting his wand to read the writing. "Liverpool. Just along the waterfront and the docks, it looks like."

Severus nodded. "Very well, then. Hermione?"

Hermione looked up at him. "Yes?"

"Do you feel as though you are capable of Side Along once more? It would not do for you to retch all over Weasley's pristine Auror robes."

Hermione scowled, walking over to Ron. "I can hold my own just fine, thanks."

"Right then," said Ron, reaching out for Hermione. "I'll, er, I'll just Apparate Hermione there and then come back for you, sir - "

"-- You will do no such thing, Weasley," Severus snapped, his eyes blacker than ever in the night.

"_Severus,_" Hermione admonished, her brow furrowed.

Ignoring her, Severus stepped toward Ron. "You will take me there first and come back for Professor Granger. Of the three of us, she is the least trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts - _assuming_ you retained anything from your Auror training. It therefore makes the most _sense_," he emphasized, "to leave someone fully trained at this unknown and presumably dangerous location while you return for her."

Ron looked like an awkward first year, fumbling with the parchment and his wand. "Oh, er, right, Professor. That's makes the most sense, I suppose."

"Of course it does, Weasley. Now take my arm. Let us get this over with."

Ron walked slowly over to Severus. They stood at almost the exact same height; Severus may have had the edge - but only just. Clearing his throat, Ron awkwardly reached out to grab his former professor's forearm.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Weasley!" Severus snapped, reaching out and snatching Ron's reluctant arm. "Apparate. NOW!"

Hermione stood back as the resounding _crack_ of duel Apparation snapped through the night. Ron returned a few seconds later, red faced and cursing.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," he muttered, walking over and hastily grabbing her arm. "You didn't say that the man was still a complete git! I'd of thought he'd be much more tolerable now that he's not a bloody spy. Merlin's balls..."

"It takes time, Ronald," Hermione said with simplicity, doing her best to ignore his vulgarity. "He associates you with school and Harry. Give him some time. I've had several rather lovely conversations with him - "

" - That's not likely. He thinks I'm a prize idiot. If I never have to converse with him again, so much the better for both of us."

Hermione frowned. "Well, suit yourself, Ron. But there's no better wizard alive when it comes to fighting the Dark Arts. You couldn't have asked for a more competent man to come with us."

"I still don't see _why_ he had to come in the first place," he huffed.

"Because I gave him my word, Ronald," Hermione retorted. "Now, let's go. We're wasting time."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, turing to Apparate, "you sound _just_ like him."

* * *

Rain was falling lightly in Liverpool. Hermione stumbled again, feeling slightly dizzy as Ron kept a firm grip on her upper arm.

"You all right there, Hermione?" he asked, scanning the docks.

"Yeah," Hermione muttered, standing tall and walking a few tentative steps to shake off the dizzying sensation and the light buzzing in her ears. "I'm fine."

"The docks on this side of the waterfront are practically empty," Severus said, coming up on them from behind. Hermione and Ron both whipped around, startled. "Are you sure this is the correct location, Weasley?"

"Um, yes, sir," Ron managed, though clearly uncomfortable. To be sure, he reached into his robes and pulled out the parchment, studying it silently for a moment by the light of his wand. Raindrops fell onto the paper, smearing some of the ink. "Yeah, this should be the right place."

"And what exactly is this 'disturbance' that we are meant to be investigating?" Severus came around and stood close to Hermione, who was brandishing her wand and pulling her hood up.

Ron shrugged. "Don't know exactly. The Department just sent in a memo saying that Dark magic was being used in this area. Muggles reported to the local authorities of some odd stuff happening, and a undercover wizard who works for that office contacted the Ministry."

"We should be careful about exposing our wands, then," Hermione said rationally, "if there are so many Muggles about."

Severus nodded. "Though keep them close at hand. I would much rather cast an _Oblivate_ than be killed."

"I think I agree with you, Professor Snape," Ron said as he fingered for his wand.

"Likely, a first, Weasley," Severus commented, turning and gazing down the waterway. "Perhaps we should head south to start, working our way up the narrow alleys as we go."

Hermione nodded. Her breath steamed in the chill air. "The Pier Head, The Port of Liverpool Building, and the Royal Liver are all north, I think, and there would be far too many people around to be messing with Dark magic without anyone taking notice."

"How do you know all those bloody buildings, Hermione?" Ron asked in amusement as he turned the light off his wand, concealing them all in darkness once more.

"Because I was raised by Muggles, Ron," Hermione said with a hint of annoyance. "And subsequently, I know a fair deal about important Muggle landmarks and buildings in Britain."

"Oh," Ron said, clearly unimpressed. "Well, I reckon we should be begin, then."

"Brilliant deduction," Severus supplied, side-stepping them both and heading down the waterway. They walked in silence for a lengthy period, Severus tense and rigid, carefully checking each of the alley corners before waving Hermione and Ron forward. Pausing as they approached an interior rows of warehouses, Severus turned. "Weasley, you stay at the flank while we're navigating the alleyways. Hermione?" His dark eyes found and held hers. The rain continued to fall. "Stay between us both. Do not wander."

Annoyed, she snapped, "You don't need to protect me."

Severus strode forward with surprising speed, and if Hermione hadn't seen him physically move, she would have sworn he Apparated. None too gently, he grabbed the front of her robes, pulling her forcefully toward him. "You think I'm flaunting some pathetic display of chivalry?" he hissed, his large nose only inches from her own, rain dripping off it. "Do not flatter yourself. Of the three of us, you are the smallest, the least trained in the Dark Arts, and potentially the easiest target. I told you back at Hogwarts that you would follow my every request if you wished to come." He let go of her robes, taking a step backward. "No one is stopping you from returning to Scotland."

She wanted to explode with outrage, wanted to lecture him that she could certainly do anything _Ron _could, and that his comments were as insulting as all hell. But she stopped herself as she realized he was, as usual, right. She _was_ the least experienced with Defense. What she wanted, rather, was his trust. She wasn't, after all, completely helpless when it came to wielding a wand.

So with as much dignity as she could, she muttered, "Fine. I'll stay in the middle."

Severus didn't bother to reply. He simply turned around, leading them further into the maze of alleyways. He paused once or twice, increasingly alert as they made their way further and further from the waterway.

"It's smells like rancid fish," Hermione whispered, wrinkling her nose after they turned down a particularly narrow alleyway. Surreptitiously, she cast a drying charm over her robes as they pressed on. "Should it smell stale like that?"

"All fish smell disgusting, don't they?" Ron said from closely behind her. "Even the way mum cooks them, they always smell bloody awful."

"No, Weasley," Severus said quietly, his voice barely audible. "Hermione is right. It smells like ..., " he paused, sniffing the wet air with his abnormally large nose, " ... rotten meat."

"Maybe they're waiting to dispose of it," Ron supplied.

"Shh!" Severus cut in, whirling his black robes around in the darkness of the little alley. "We should avoid speaking if we can. Something is ... not right."

Hermione frowned, gripping her wand tightly from underneath her robes. Her heart began to pound a little faster. Unconsciously, she stepped closer to Severus. _So much for thinking you don't need to be protected, Hermione. _She smelled the air again and nearly gagged. "Ugh, it smells like ... I don't know, like decay or something noxious," she whispered, loud enough for only Severus to hear.

He nodded his agreement, stealthily turning left down another alleyway. This alley was clogged with refuse and dead fish. But that wasn't what caught Severus' attention. He froze the moment he rounded the corner, his posture tense, as he gripped his wand apprehensively. Hanging above him, from many ropes tied from above, hung several human bodies. Their corpses spun leisurely in the breeze, rain pattering indifferently on their unmoving forms.

He swallowed, giving himself one brief second to take in the horror of it all as he stood there, absolutely still, looking up into the darkness.

They hadn't been hanged in the traditional fashion. The ropes had been tied to various hooks, and then rammed down the victims throats. The bloodied ends of the hooks jutted from the throats of men, women, and children; their heads tipped back with ropes running out of their mouths.

Behind him, Hermione gasped loudly.

"Oh my ... "

Severus whirled around. Hermione was staring up at the bodies, hands covering her mouth, eyes wide with fear and disgust.

"Oh, God," she clarified, turning away.

"Hermione," Severus whispered, reaching to grab her by the shoulders. "Look at me. Apparate. _Now._ The Death Eaters responsible may still be in the premise. I ..." he lowered his voice, "I cannot do what is necessary if I am concerned for you."

But she seemed not to have heard him, her eyes strangely transfixed above Severus' head, morbidly eyeing the mutilated bodies.

"Hermione!" Severus whispered again, shaking her slightly. Her eyes didn't move.

"Dammit," Severus cursed, reaching to pull her against him so as to physically restrain her from looking at the carnage. But a sudden movement and the end of the alley caught his attention, and without a second thought, he released his grip on Hermione and charged forward through the pattering rain, splashing through the grime as Hermione screamed behind him.

"Severus! Severus, no! Wait!"

He checked himself and looked back at her. "Weasley! Take Hermione and Apparate to the Ministry! Wake every Auror in the office if you have to and send them back at once!"

And then he turned, and his footsteps pounded through the puddled ground around the corner of the alleyway and through the labyrinth of corners and turns beyond.

Hermione stared after him a moment with dawning horror, and then she gripped her wand tightly and made to scramble after him.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, grabbing her roughly by the arm and pulling her back towards him. "No! You heard him. I need to fetch the entire department! Now, hold _still_ so I can Apparate properly!"

"No, Ron!" Hermione screamed, suddenly frantic. "We can't just leave him!" She pulled furiously against his grip, but his hands tightened around her wrists like a vice. "_Let me go, Ron_! Don't make me hex you! I'll do it! I swear I will!"

But the next instant, Ron wrestled her forcefully against his body, and before she could scream Severus' name once more, she felt herself being whisked away into nothingness.

* * *

"What the hell was that!" Hermione yelled, the moment she stumbled to a landing at the Ministry's visitor entrance. The rain here was beginning to pound harder. She pulled away from Ron and stared up at him, her breathing erratic.

Ron's blue eyes narrowed. "You heard him! He told me to get you out of there and to fetch the Aurors, which is what I'm going to do! So knock it off, Hermione, would you?" He turned to the red telephone booth and scooted inside.

Hermione paced in front of the booth like a caged lion, sloshing through the puddles without even noticing them. Her right hand was wrapped so tightly around her wand, she doubted she retained the ability to drop the thing. "We just left him there," she said helplessly as the rain fell around her. "We left him. And whatever in the hell it was that did ... that did _that_ to those poor people is now out there with Severus." She turned to Ron as he was about to lower into the ground and then pounded her fist on the window. "Why did you bring me here? We could have helped him!"

"Because he told me to, Hermione! Now come and get out of the rain so I can find someone to help him!"

_He's right. You yelling at him will only delay whomever it is that can go and help Severus. Be rational, Hermione. You can be angry later._

She looked back up at him. "You go. I ... I need some air."

"Hermione - "

"Just go, Ron!" she shouted. "We can't waste any more time! I'm not going back, so stop worrying."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Alright. Just don't do anything stupid, Hermione."

She watched him disappear into the ground. _Wasn't I the one who always said that to you and Harry? Since when did I become so impulsive?_

And then Ron was gone.

Hermione's hands were trembling; her mouth was dry and she knew her breathing was ragged. Inexplicably, her visual recall kept going back to the morbid scene in Liverpool, to the grotesque faces of the poor corpses that hung from above, to the dull, bloodied hooks. To the fearful, dead eyes.

She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. It was several moments later that she realized she had slumped to the wet ground.

She wasn't completely naive to the realities of war; she had, in fact, grown up and fought in one. But she had also been blessedly spared from much of the gore and had made an effort to avoid any unnecessary details. She had know about the casualties, true enough; she had seen many of them first hand - close friends that had lain still in the Main Hall of Hogwarts, some strewn carelessly across the grounds. But most of those deaths had been, thankfully, a result of the killing curse. The bodies had not been mauled or maimed. Most had even appeared to be sleeping, though Hermione knew better.

But those men and women - those _children_ - back at the docks, that was something out of a muggle horror film. Those kinds of things didn't happen to real people, did they? Was mankind truly that disgusting? That abominable? Voldemort was dead. Wasn't the Wizarding world supposed to get some sort of reprieve?

And then, as she always did, Hermione thought of her parents, of how they suffered at the hand of the Cruciatus curse by some sadist or equally evil witch or wizard. Did her mother die screaming her name? Did her father suffer even more? Surely, he would have done everything in his power to protect her mother. Would the Death Eaters have played with that?

_God, why can't my thoughts ever have a moment's peace. Why do I always have to wonder? Will I ever be free from this torture?_

She would, she felt certain. But only when she found her parents' murders. And if she never did, well, then she was doomed to be miserable the rest of her life for abandoning her parents when they needed her the most.

Just then the sight and smell of the docks came back to her, and she fought her gag reflex, struggling to stand so that if she did vomit, she wouldn't be sitting in it. But as she stumbled to her feet, the memory of the smell assaulted her again, and her legs buckled and she did fall.

Oddly, through the ringing in the ears, she thought she heard Severus cursing above her; and then there were deft hands to hold her as she slumped to the ground.

"Weasley! Get over here! She's in shock!"

And then she heard Ron, too, mumbling from somewhere nearby.

"Severus?" she coughed, fighting to keep the bile down. She looked up and there he was, sitting above her, alive and breathing. More wonderful than a sunrise, or freedom.

"Severus?" she said again, fighting to prop herself up. Her free hand reached on its own accord to gently touch his cheek, to make sure it was truly him. "But ... what happened?"

He shook his head, almost as though he didn't trust himself to speak. "Whomever it was, they Disapperated before I could confront them," he said in a dark voice. "I came here immediately after. And you," he said more softly, his impossibly dark eyes searching her face, "you need to get out of the rain."

She felt herself being lifted to her feet and then there was a steady arm around her waist. Without knowing where it came from, she felt the warmth of a drying charm. And then, walking towards them, Ron eyed the pair strangely.

"Did you faint, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head and her hood fell back. "No, I just," she waved her arm in the air, "I keep smelling that awful smell and ... "

She cut herself off as she felt herself ready to gag again. Ron regarded her a moment longer, worry etched into his face. But then he looked up to Severus and cleared his throat. "I sent the emergency alarm to every Auror in the Ministry. I suspect they'll be arriving any moment." He shifted awkwardly. "I'm going to go head back down to organize a team and return to the docks to search for anything we might have missed and to, uh, get the bodies down."

Ron looked over at Severus with something of a grim kinship in his gaze; it was all coming together for him, horribly.

"Did you notice," he asked. "I mean, they weren't wearing Muggle clothes - the victims. They were wearing robes."

Severus nodded. "Yes," he said darkly. "I saw."

Ron swallowed. "Right, well, I need to be off then. Hermione?" he asked, looking down at his friend. "You'll be alright?"

She nodded once, rain dripping from her thick hair. "Yeah, Ron. I'm fine."

A moment later, Ron disappeared again into the red phone booth, silently descending into the Ministry of Magic atrium.

"Come," Severus said into the rain with one steady hand on the small of her back. "You should see Poppy."

Keenly feeling the ridiculousness of it all, Hermione shook her head. "No, Severus. I'm fine. Really. It's just, it's a lot to take in ... I think, I was more shocked than anything. I - I wasn't prepared to see _that_."

Looking down at her with an almost unrecognizable softness across his harsh features, he said in grave tones, "Do not punish yourself so severely, Hermione. No one, I do not think, would be prepared to witness that type of carnage."

"They were witches and wizards," Hermione said simply, not looking at anything in particular. "It's like, I don't know..." She looked over her shoulder as her heart kicked up against her chest. "It's like everything is happening again. The war. The only difference is, this time, we don't know _who _we are fighting."

Silence for a moment.

"Yes," Severus agreed, quietly, calmly. "But that does not make it impossible."

She caught a glimpse of a naked, wordless fury in his voice --_ perhaps not so calm after all._

Then he controlled it again. "Come," he looked down at her, holding out his arm. "It will not do to stand pitifully in the rain when nothing more can be done this evening."

She nodded wordlessly, reaching to grab his forearm.

Thinking back to the horrid scene at the docks, Hermione knew without speaking that this marked a change in the war. No longer were the Death Eaters content with murdering Muggles. Each death was occurring more and more frequently; and now, witches and wizards were being targeted.

And what that meant, God only knew.

* * *

A week later, Hermione hesitated in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

It was early evening, just prior to supper, and Hermione was about to assist in the first dueling club Hogwarts had seen since her second year. Though Severus had, strangely, given her skills with a wand some merit, she still felt dreadfully inadequate in comparison to the Defense professor. With Dumbledore and Voldemort both dead, there was little doubt in her mind that Severus Snape was one of the most powerful wizards in Britain.

_Surely, he could have asked Minerva to help -- Horace, even._

Standing there, fist hovering a few inches away from the oak door, Hermione felt profoundly inept.

And, she mused gloomily, the past week had been awful.

The _Daily Prophet_ had dutifully reported the murders in Liverpool, as Hermione had known would happen. Eight deaths in all. Two families. Four children under the age of thirteen. While Hermione hadn't know the victims personally, the surnames had struck a chord with her, from some distant memory or encounter. And the speculations of what had truly happened were more rampant than a raging wildfire. Surely it had to be the work of former Death Eaters; but who? Were the families deliberately targeted? Or was it a random selection? What of the Malfoys? None of which really mattered. The question wasn't whether the Auror Department could pick up the pieces of this tragedy, it was whether they should even try.

For what purpose - to come to another dead end? Even the most optimistic wizard knew that nothing would be found. It was as Severus had said during his first Order meeting back from the dead - Death Eaters, despite everything, were not foolish. Where that left the rest of the Wizarding world was as good a guess as anybody's.

One thing was clear. The attacks from this group of Death Eaters were deliberate. They were meant to instill terror and fear. And they damn well wanted to be sure that each and every member of the Wizarding community knew about it. The unasked question was _when_ and _who _was meant to be the next example of their power.

And then the door swung inward in front of Hermione, and she stared dumbly ahead into the stern face of the Defense professor.

Had he heard her? Or did Severus possess the uncanny ability that Dumbledore once had, to seemingly know everyone else's whereabouts?

She couldn't read his expression; but standing there, caught off guard as she was, she wanted nothing more than to drop through the floor. She wanted to throw Harry's invisibility cloak over her head and barrel back down the corridor. Instead, she looked down at her muggle jeans and shirt and said, absurdly, "I wasn't sure what to wear."

His gaze swept over her attire with apparent disgust and his lip curled. "For assisting in a dueling club? Or for skulking outside my office door?"

She blinked. She wanted to say that she didn't skulk, that that particular adjective was something she might use to describe _him._ Instead she said, "I wasn't sure what you'd have me do. I can move around more easily in jeans than in my robes." She met his gaze almost levelly. "And I doubt a Death Eater would care if I was dressed as a muggle instead of a witch, if it helps me maneuver better."

He sneered. "Quite."

Swinging the door backward, he stepped aside so she could enter the room.

The Defense classroom appeared virtually unchanged from when she was a student. The pictures she had tried to ignore during her sixth year still adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. As a student, she had been shocked by the images, enraged even. But now, as she walked past the portrait of a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall -- likely from the Dementor's Kiss -- she realized that she finally understood Severus' subtle attempt at humor.

"Do you really find these pictures necessary?" she asked, pausing in front of a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony.

He looked up at one of the portraits and chuckled ruefully, a deep pleasant sound. "And what would you have me display in the Defense classroom, Hermione? Images of rainbows or unicorns prancing majestically on windy hilltops?"

She snorted once, and then laughed loudly, utterly bemused by such an outrageous description. "No, no those obviously wouldn't do. Personally, I've just left the walls of the Transfiguration classroom bare."

He walked past her and adjusted the light of the room with his wand. "That is simply because you lack imagination."

She chuckled again, pulling her wand from her jean pocket. "And what would you suggest, Severus?" She tapped her wand against her chin, looking pensive. "Transfigurations gone badly? A boy that was half child, half newt?"

"Ah," said Severus, enlarging the room with a flick of his wand. "Finally, you're catching on."

Looking over at him, she smiled wickedly. "You're quite awful, Severus. Has anyone ever told you that?"

The corners of his lips quirked upward. "Yes, on...multiple occasions."

She shook her head, grinning. She had come to enjoy her playful banter with Severus more than she could ever verbalize. She had come to discover, as was evident by his horrid paintings, that Severus did, in fact, have a strange, albeit delightful, sense of humor. It was subtle and nearly hidden. But it _was_ there. And she found herself more and more often trying to crack open whatever it was that unleashed the playful banter and his glorious deep laugh.

Leaning against a chair that had been pushed to the side of the room, Hermione asked, "So, who's the first group?"

Severus checked the time with his wand. "Seventh years. Slytherin and Gryffindor."

Hermione didn't bother suppressing the groan that escaped her lips. "Honestly, why does everyone throw those two together? You're just _asking_ for trouble, Severus. They're going to want to hex each other to bits."

Severus' black eyes glinted in the low light. "Exactly."

"Exactly?" Hermione echoed, indignant. Her eyes went wide. "You want them to try to kill one another?"

"That would prove rather pointless in my regard, as I still wish to remain a professor at this institution," Severus said flatly. "The students will never learn a hex from a jinx if they don't _feel_ what they are casting." He swept by her, making his way to his desk at the front of the classroom. "To give them the most realistic atmosphere of what it would be like to curse or shield against a rival, against someone they hated, I put Slytherin and Gryffindor together." And then he deftly loosed his cloak and outer robe so he stood only in his black, frock coat and carefully laid his outer garments across his desk.

"Tell me, Hermione, would you have been more prone to pay attention if it was Crabbe or Goyle that you were dueling? Or Weasley or Longbottom?"

Well, that certainly didn't say anything for House unity, but Hermione couldn't argue the logic. She was grudgingly impressed.

"Well?" Severus asked impatiently, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Er, Crabbe and Goyle. I'd pay more attention if I were dueling them."

Severus smirked. "Precisely."

000

"Welcome," Severus said in a low voice, "to your first dueling session." The seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins had finally quieted, standing on opposite sides of the classroom. "Depending on your behavior during this period and your ability to follow instructions, we may or may not have subsequent sessions."

The class was silent.

He set off around the edge of the room as his dark eyes roved over the students' upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Hermione's than on anyone else's.

"The Dark Arts," continued Severus, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-heading monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Hermione folded her arms, struck, more than she expected to be, at watching him in his element.

"Your defenses," Severus said, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo." Silently, he made his way to the center of the room. "These dueling sessions, however, will be strictly disarming and shielding for the time being. _If_ you prove yourselves competent in that regard," his gaze fell onto the Gryffindor side of the room, "we may move onto other milder curses."

"Mr. Worthington," Severus snapped, looking to a tall, handsome Slytherin. "Tell me the advantages of nonverbal spells."

A dark-haired boy stood and cleared his throat. "Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," he said, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"Very good, Mr. Worthington," Severus nodded. "Five points to Slytherin."

"Nice one, Rich," a chubby boy sitting next to him whispered loudly.

"Nonverbal spells are what you are accustomed to as N.E.W.T. students," Severus went on, "and that is what I expect in our dueling sessions."

A few students groaned.

"Professor Granger," Severus continued a little louder, ignoring the groans, gesturing to where Hermione stood quietly, "has kindly agreed to take time out of her busy schedule to assist this evening. Rest assured, she will be watching every bit as closely as I to ensure that only approved spells are being used."

The students looked back to Hermione, most of them smiling, though a few of the Slytherins regarded her in much the same way Draco Malfoy once did back when she had been a student. She sighed deeply; too utterly unsurprised to be offended.

She was, after all, the world's most famous muggle-born witch.

"You will now divide," Severus went on, "into pairs. Each pair will consist of one Slytherin and one Gryffindor. One partner will attempt to disarm the other_ without speaking._ The the other will attempt to repel the jinx _in equal silence_. There will be two pairs dueling at all times, one on the east side of the classroom, the other on the west. Questions?"

Heads shook mutely until Severus nodded. "Carry on, then. Professor Granger?"

Hermione's head snapped up, and she hurried quickly to join him in the center of the classroom as students scrambled around her.

"You will observe the pairs on the west side. I shall take the east."

She nodded once. "Of course."

A great deal of talking and movement ensued; the Gryffindor students reluctantly made their way to the center of the classroom to seek out a Slytherin partner. Hermione waited patiently on the west side of the room, just below a portrait of a bloody mass upon the ground of a body that had likely just met an Inferius. After several moments of chatter and general hesitation from both parts, Severus' voice roared over the class, "This is _not_ a teatime partner! Grab a student from the opposite House and find a side to wait on. NOW!"

Very quickly, students in red and green paired up with one another and scurried toward one of two walls.

Hermione's first Slytherin/Gryffindor pair consisted of Blake O'Malley, one of her favorite Gryffindor students, and Jean Thomas, a quiet, but intelligent Slytherin. Severus' first pair had already begun dueling, and were both aptly casting and pairing curses in complete silence. She glanced at Severus, briefly, but his concentration was completely focused on the two students in front of him, his wand poised and ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

"Alright then," Hermione said, loud enough to be heard over the force of magic colliding from the students on the other side of the room, "Mr. O'Malley, Ms. Thomas? Take your places on this side of the room. Yes, that's perfect." She glanced around the classroom, at the looks of excitement and anticipation on each of the students' faces. She side-stepped the two dueling students and stood with those still waiting. "Right. Now when you're both ready, you will bow to one another. Ms. Thomas? You will first be the attacker and Mr. O'Malley will be the shielder. Once you've had a few rounds at those positions, you will switch. Do you have any questions?"

"No, professor," they both chimed in dutifully.

000

The dueling went marvelously. Mr. O'Malley and Ms. Thomas both dueled aptly and silently, as well as the next several pairs of students. Severus had to once intervene with a Gryffindor who thought casting a _Tarantallegra_ would be humorous -- "But sir, it's not even a dangerous curse! I was just trying to keep him on his toes!" -- to which Severus had emphatically assigned a detention with resounding finality. "You have a date with Mr. Filch and an endless plethora of bedpans for the next week. I hope you enjoy geting an _intimate_ look at cleaning without the use of a wand."

Hermione had to turn to cough into the sleeve of her jumper to hide her smile.

It was nearing supper and only a few pairs remained, the rest of the group panting and wincing on the sides of the room, fairly exhausted from the strain of a nonverbal duel. Richard Worthington stood to go next for Hermione's group, along with Chase Alvey, from Gryffindor. Hermione sighed internally as she eyed the coming matchup. The boys, she reflected ruefully, were publicly known for intensely disliking one another.

"Mr. Worthington, you will disarm first, if you please. Mr. Alvey, you will shield. When you're both ready, you may bow."

The Slytherin smirked and made a mock bow, too low to have any sort of real sincerity. The Gryffindor returned the gesture, trying to get even lower, if at all possible.

And then Worthington stepped forward with a powerful disarming jinx, silently blasting its way across the room. Alvey brandished his wand with surprising speed, repelling the curse with a loud pulse of magic. Worthington went for another hex, missing Alvey by inches, and shattering a desk directly behind him. There was a loud bang and a chair near Hermione exploded. The dangerous dance ensued for several long moments.

Sweat faced and panting, a frustrated Worthington eyed the ceiling above Avery and then pointed upward to the dragon skeleton that hanged from the barreled vault, and muttered a strained, "_Reducto!"_

The impact was like a canon shot. Bones exploded everywhere, and the massive skeleton shrieked out of the ceiling hold, collapsing perilously toward the ground.

Hermione stared, too shocked for a moment to do anything. And then she reacted with more speed and force than she would have ever given herself credit for. Shouting at the students who huddled below the dragon, she threw her wand in the air above them and cried, "_IMMOBULUS__!"_

Huge bits of the dragon froze in place, mid-air.

But the skeleton was massive, and Hermione's spell only encased part of the dragon, leaving ribs, femurs, and pieces of the skull falling to the ground in a fury of chaos. Somewhere over the shouting and the clanging of bones on stone, Hermione heard Severus bellowing in the background. His voice, oddly, sounded distant, like something from a dream. And then, as if in slow motion, Hermione spotted two students directly below where the spine was collapsing, wands out, though too panicked to know what to do. Staring for a moment in dawning horror, Hermione scrambled over her feet, keeping the freezing charm in check, and bodily shoved the students out of the way.

The spine clanged loudly around her as bits of dust and debris filled the air. Heart racing, scanning the area wildly, Hermione heard a groan from above, and pieces of the ceiling broke free of the ribbed vaulting, and shuttered to the classroom floor. Without thinking, Hermione flung the pieces of the dragon she still held in the air toward the back of the classroom, and the wall took a deafening blow as it burst outward. Again she jabbed her wand into the air and screamed, "_IMMOBULUS!"_ and there was the chaos of shouting and the awful sound of bone being crushed under stone as the ceiling gave way.

Coughing through the stone dust, unable to see much of anything, Hermione took in a shuddering breath as something stuck her on the side of head. Her footing wavered and instantly, she lost control of the freezing charm. Stumbling to the floor as her wand launched out of her hand, landing on pieces of bone and rubble, she threw her arms over her head and curled into a fetal position, bracing herself for the pieces of ceiling that would surely come tumbling down on top of her.

_Severus, if I'd had the chance..._

But suddenly Severus was standing beside her, and the floor shook beneath him.

From her position on the ground all she could see were his legs through the dust, but she heard him shouting loudly -- whether at the students, or some other charm to keep the ceiling from caving in, she wasn't certain. And then, just as suddenly as the chaos had happened, everything cleared.

"WORTHINGTON!" Severus roared from above her, "Go to the Headmistress' office _immediately! _You will _not_ move from that space until I arrive or it will be more than expulsion you need fear from me, boy!"

A few students gasped.

Hermione heard a muffled, frightened, "Yes, sir," from somewhere nearby.

"The rest of you," Severus continued loudly, "if anyone is injured, proceed to the Hospital Wing this _instant_. Mr. Brooks! Run ahead and tell Madame Pomfrey of what has transpired. Inform her there could be several students arriving momentarily. If anyone needs assistance to the hospital wing, raise your wands in the air; those who are capable of assisting, lead on."

And then, Hermione felt Severus kneel down beside her. His frock coat was ripped, and dust was covering nearly every inch of him.

"Hermione," he said quietly, his long fingers reaching to gently cradle her cheek. His black eyes were wide and raw, searching her for injuries.

"I'm fine. I am," she muttered, propping herself up on her elbows and coughing through the dust. "I'm alright," she repeated, when he reached out to grab her forearm to steady her.

He helped her up carefully, one hand resting above her forehead as he looked up to the spider-cracked ceiling, ascertaining if any other pieces might fall. They both looked around, at the dust filled classroom and the ominous sagging of the ribbed ceiling where hairlined cracks spread from just above them.

And without thinking of what she was doing, Hermione pressed her forehead into Severus' chest for a brief moment, getting a hold of her breathing. It was a strange sensation to feel his arms wrap hesitantly around her, to feel the rise and fall of his chest, and to feel his heart, which was pounding every bit as furiously as her own.

Then she took a deep breath and stepped back and looked up at him.

"Hermione." His voice was tight, and his eyes were focused on the side of her forehead. "You're bleeding. You need to see Poppy."

Her fingers reached up to her forehead without thought, coming shakily away with a crimson stain.

"Oh," she said, after an uncharacteristically long amount of time.

"Are you capable of walking?"

Hermione considered that. She certainly felt shaky, but she tentatively pressed her weight down on one foot and then shifted it to the other, and decided she could manage.

"Yes, I'm fine. Really."

Severus nodded, though he didn't appear convinced. "Come," he said at length. "I will walk with you."

000

The classroom had emptied in a hurry. From what Hermione had been able to see, and she wasn't entirely sure that she had been completely coherent, most of the students appeared uninjured and had scurried quickly to the Great Hall to, more than likely, spread the news of what had happened in the Defense classroom. Through the rubble and settling dust, Hermione and Severus were the last two remaining.

Severus stood impossibly close to her as she made her way slowly through the corridor. She could feel the side of her arm brush against his with each step. Strangely, she didn't mind the sensation. In fact, she found herself scooting closer to him. And the way he had held her when she had leaned into him - so hesitantly at first, and then firmly, made her heart kick up in her chest. And what that meant for her, _Merlin_ only knew - but she'd be damned if she could figure it out with him so close to her.

Her visual recall kept firing at random every few seconds, to the image of the dozen or so students under the crumpling ceiling. She shook her head, as though the physical motion alone might extricate that particular memory.

And then she heard a rushed set of footsteps coming directly towards them from the opposite end of the corridor. Severus, instantly on the defense, drew his wand. Hermione belatedly wondered what Severus thought they might encounter in the corridors of Hogwarts, but was soon distracted when she saw a very out-of-sorts Argus Filch round the bend.

"What was all that ruckus I heard back there?" Filch wheezed. His hunchback, in Hermione's opinion, looked more horrible than ever; he stooped so far over it was a wonder how he balanced himself upright. "I've told these kids time and time again that anything from that damnable Weasley shop is prohibited in this school!"

"Calm yourself, Argus," said Severus silkily, surreptitiously taking a hold of Hermione's elbow to steady her. "There was an incident in the Defense classroom. Rest assured, there is nothing in my class from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

Filch looked slightly disappointed.

"Argus, while you are here, I would impose to ask you to stand guard at the Defense classroom. The ceiling has partially caved in and is highly unstable for the time being. Make certain that _no one_ goes in. Once I escort Professor Granger safely to the Hospital Wing, I will return to sort it out."

Filch nodded and Mrs. Norris made her presence known by stalking up to the caretaker, rubbing her head against his legs. "Yes. Of course."

"Come," Severus said to Hermione. He took her elbow again, gently, with care and precision. "You should not be on your feet."

"I'm_ fine_," Hermione protested, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Admittedly, she felt slightly dizzy, but that was likely normal, wasn't it? After having a piece of bone or ceiling knock you on the side of the head?

The remaining journey to the Hospital Wing was in silence. Hermione's mind kept wandering back to the strange yet lovely sensation of Severus' fingers on her elbow. What did it mean, any of it? Apparently that she was suffering from delusions of a romance with a former professor - one that was nearly twice her age. Her mind raced through her memory of _Hogwarts: A History_, trying to recall if there was any ban on teacher to teacher relationships.

_God, Hermione. Stop it! It's as though you're considering that there could be such a possibility. It's not as though he'd ever be remotely interested in you. And you don't even know _what_ you feel for him. You're delusional. You likely have a concussion._

Madame Pomfrey was already waiting outside the double doors to the Hospital Wing when they turned the corner.

"Oh, my dear!" Poppy cried when she saw Hermione, hurrying over to her with surprising speed. "Come, darling! Let's have a look at your head, shall we?"

"How many students were injured?" Severus asked without hesitation, holding the door open as Poppy put a steadying hand on Hermione's back, ushering her through.

"Not even a handful, Severus, thank Merlin," the matron said with relief. "Just a few cuts and scrapes. Nothing serious. They could barely, however, sit still long enough for me to heal them properly," she huffed with annoyance. "Too excited about what had happened, can you believe it?"

Hermione, at least, could believe it. Images of Pavarti and Padma Patil involuntarily flashed before her mind.

"Sit down, Hermione. That's right. Any bed will do, dear. Very good." The old witch turned to the Defense professor as she settled Hermione onto a twin bed with white lined sheets. "Good gracious, Severus, what happened? I tried to get the information from the students, but it was a rush of words and inconsistencies. Is it true the ceiling collapsed in your classroom? How could that have possibly happened?"

"Yes, it is true, thanks to our dear friend, Mr. Worthington," Severus said simply, though there was a dark undertone in his voice that caused the hair on Hermione's neck to stand on end. "And he should be waiting for me in Minerva's office as we speak."

Poppy tisked as she pulled Hermione's thick hair up and out of her face. "This could have been a very dangerous situation, Severus. We are quite lucky that no serious injuries occurred."

Severus' dark eyes fell onto Hermione, though she wasn't looking at him. "You have Professor Granger to thank for that, Poppy."

"Really, Severus -- " Hermione started.

"Hermione, my dear," Poppy said in an almost scolding voice, "you get into far more trouble that is good for you. Aside from Mr. Potter, I doubt I saw anyone more in this Hospital Wing than you."

Not really knowing how to respond to such a statement, Hermione chose to remain silent. And she was mostly quiet while Poppy examined her, only answering dutifully the questions the school matron posed. Severus stood by the threshold during the entire examination, arms folded, looking grave and desolate and the school nurse worked.

When Poppy finished, she bustled over to a cabinet in her back office that was stacked to the ceiling with medicines and potions. She returned a moment later with a small vial.

"Drink this, dear. It will help with the dizziness."

Sighing deeply, Hermione obeyed, throwing her head back as she downed the purple liquid.

"Bah," Hermione coughed, wiping her mouth with the backside of her hand. "It tastes foul."

Poppy took the empty vial from her hands. "It's not meant to be a beverage," she said sternly. "It will do it's job. Now," she rested her hands on her hips, eyeing Hermione with scrutinizing eyes, "I'd like if you perhaps stayed the night -- "

" -- No, Poppy," Hermione protested emphatically, raising her hands and shaking her head. "I'm_ fine_. It was just a small cut, is all. I'd very much like to return to my rooms tonight."

Poppy frowned. "Can you manage to relax for an entire evening, Hermione? No running through the hallways, no grading assignments, no research?"

"Poppy," Hermione retorted, sliding off the bed and onto her feet. "I'm perfectly capable of relaxing."

Severus snorted from the doorway.

Scowling in his general direction, Hermione patted her jeans to make sure she had her wand. "Um, there was one other thing, though - if you don't mind."

Severus pretended to dust off the concrete and bone from his frock coat, though Hermione was certain he was listening.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Could I, er, possibly have some Dreamless Sleep Potion? I've had a ... difficult time sleeping the past few weeks."

Poppy instantly went into action. "Hermione!" she scolded. "Why didn't you come see me sooner? Of course I can fix you up a batch, we'll just have to record how much you've been given -- it's highly addictive." She spoke as she went back to the cabinet in her office, coming back with a hand-sized bottle. "It's five drops a night, Hermione. Take any more and you'll be kneeling in front of your toilet until the sun comes up," she warned. "Understood?"

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes and convince Poppy that she wasn't some kind of addict and was perfectly capable of following instructions, she managed to nod.

"Good. Now, see to it that you rest immediately. The potion I gave you can make you a little lethargic. I wouldn't take the Dreamless Sleep tonight; I doubt it would mix well. I can send the House Elves up to deliver your supper if you'd like."

Not wanting to fight it, Hermione nodded. "That will be fine, Poppy. Thank you."

Poppy nodded once and then headed to straighten up the twin bed Hermione had been sitting on. Making her way to the doorway, Severus stepped back and held the one side of the door open so Hermione could pass.

"Thanks," she muttered softly, stepping through the threshold.

"You seem surprised," Severus mused, when they were walking along the corridor toward the stairwell. "Did Potter or Weasley not know how to open a door?"

Hermione thought about that. Harry had practically run to open any door for Ginny when they had been dating at school. Ron had been the same with Lavender. Shrugging her shoulders helplessly, she said, "I don't think they really ever thought of me as a girl -- at least while we were in school. I was just the handy friend that knew everything and could help them cram for exams." She paused, offering a little half smile. "I think they saw me as some androgynous being."

She didn't mention that when she had Ron had started dating, he had held the door open for her.

Severus was silent.

"So do you, um," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "do you need help fixing your classroom?"

Severus stared down at her darkly. "And which part about Poppy ordering you to relax did you find particularly ambiguous?"

Hermione laughed ruefully, looking to her feet. "Severus, you know just as well as I that it was a minor cut. Look!" She pointed to her forehead where the wound had been. "Not even a mark."

"Regardless," he said slowly, "are you a master in the art of healing?"

Hermione frowned. "No."

"Then you will follow Poppy's instructions."

Hermione groaned internally. He was worse the Harry.

"Fine," she said shortly. "What of Richard?"

They approached the marble staircase slowly. Severus stared straight ahead, his face grave and stern, and silently forbidding. "I will deal with him once I've seen you to your quarters."

"Oh. Well, it's just up the stairs to the seventh floor, Severus. You don't need to -- "

She trailed off when Severus stopped, mid-stride, standing there with his arms folded, implacable like the end of days, and fixed her with a non-negotiable stare. Apparently, despite how far they had come since she had first awoken in Avondale, Severus Snape could still be intimidating.

"What I mean is -- "

"Come," he said darkly, ascending the stairs. "I need to speak with Minerva about Worthington," he turned back and looked down at her, "and you need to follow Poppy's orders."

"All right," she said more gently, taking the stairs tentatively and following him. "All right then." She sighed, observing Severus' face in profile, feeling utterly helpless and needlessly looked after. The climb was slow and slightly arduous; Hermione conceded that _perhaps_ Poppy was correct in her strict order to take it easy.

They passed the base of the north tower and turned west. Just outside her rooms, Severus paused and looked down at her, and there was that curious gentleness in his dark eyes that left her feeling slightly off balanced.

"I didn't get a chance to thank you earlier," Hermione muttered, looking down to her feet. "You saved me again today," she chuckled helplessly. "You seem to be doing a lot of that lately."

He seemed to tense a little. "You have always been rather reckless, I think."

Hermione smiled. "Just don't get it in your head that I'm some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself, you know."

Severus' lip curled slightly. "I will, of course, acquiesce to whatever you which for me to believe."

Hermione laughed. She was trying not to smile, and failing utterly. "I think that's what every woman wants to hear."

Severus raised one, dark eyebrow. "Is that so?"

She shrugged. "That's what I'm told, at least."

"Ah."

"Well, thank you, again," she paused, as a sudden thought struck her. "You don't think Minerva will be upset with you about the dueling club, do you?"

Severus sighed. "I do not know."

"I'll vouch for you," Hermione said firmly. "It _wasn't_ your fault. If anyone should be reprimanded, it should be me. _I _was supposed to be watching Worthington; he was my responsibility."

Severus allowed himself a moment to consider that possibility, and then shook his head. "Minerva is the final authority at Hogwarts; I will respect whatever decision or punishment she deems fit."

"Severus -- "

"No, Hermione," he said darkly. "There is nothing more to be said on the matter."

Hearing the finality in his voice, Hermione knew there wasn't much use in arguing. Quiet, grave, and stern, he had made up his mind. "Okay," she relented, though she filed away in the back of her mind that she needed to speak with the headmistress. With all that churning in her head, she looked up at him solemnly. "You don't have to go at it alone, you know. There are those who would stand with you, if only you'd let them." She bit her lower lip. "Minerva is on your side," and then she added more quietly, "And I am, too."

Abruptly he looked back at her. "A fact I am becoming more and more aware of," he said darkly. "You should know, Hermione, you will gain nothing by association with me."

She shrugged. "What is there to gain? I like spending time with you. And it's not as though you're forcing the matter; it's my own choice."

He looked down at her in that peculiar, gentle but bottomless way she had first noticed during the summer. As if half-doubtful of the wisdom of saying it, he supplied, "Yes, I daresay it is."

Not knowing what else to say, Hermione reached to clasp his arm in gratitude - that he had prevented the ceiling from collapsing entirely on her - but then thought better of it, and let her hand fall halfway between them. Strangely, she saw some form of understanding in his eyes.

"Hermione," he said mildly, and there was a dry twinkle in his dark eyes, "_do_ try to suppress any _Gryffindor _impulses you might have to do anything rash and ... rest well tonight."

She got out a shaky laugh. "As long as you keep your brooding in the dungeons to a minimum," she stuck out her hand, "I'd say he have a deal."

Severus regarded the delicate, pale hand for a brief moment. Then he reached out and took it in his own big hand.

His grip was huge, cool, bone over flesh, precisely not a hair too tight. _If _he held onto the soft, smooth hand that belonged to Hermione Granger longer than was necessary, it was purely by accident.

"Deal."

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so I hope no one wants to throw any large objects at me at this point. I think I rewrote this chapter about five times - and to be honest; I'm still not entirely sure I'm in love with it. Sigh...I suppose that's how it goes with writing. As always, comments on the plot development and character interactions are helpful; I ALWAYS appreciate constructive criticism in a respectful, professional manner. Severus and Hermione will see more screen time as we get close to the inevitable relationship - which, I can't WAIT to write...I'm truly giddy with anticipation. A few things - Severus' speech about the Dark Arts is ALL JK Rowling. It was too perfect, and so I had to use her words verbatim. Also, all the descriptions of the paintings in the DADA classroom belong to JKR; I need to give credit where credit is due. Thank you all for your patience. I hit serious road block with this chapter, and was unsure of how to proceed. Hopefully, it will still be a nice segue into what's to come. Thanks again for the reviews - they make my day._

_-Liz_


	11. Chapter 11

_"Why love if losing hurts so much? We love to know that we are not alone."_

- C.S. Lewis

* * *

**Chapter 11**

**

* * *

  
**

It was nearly dawn when Hermione flew down the marble staircase to the second floor, hurrying along the empty corridor to the stone gargoyle.

"Tartan plaid," she said softly into the quiet alcove, watching the gargoyle shift so she could enter the stairs beyond. She smirked slightly at Minerva's password. The headmistress was known for her tartan's; Hermione had seen several of the older woman's dress robes and even nightdresses that were of that fabric.

_Minerva McGonagall, _Hermione sighed. That name had been an integral part of her vocabulary for the better part of a decade.

The now headmistress had become an odd sort of mother-type figure to Hermione ever since her parents' murders. And while she had always looked up to and respected the headmistress, something changed indefinitely the moment she became, for all intents and purposes, an orphan. Her former Head of House wasn't the smothering type that Molly Weasley was – bless her sweet, prodding, and interfering little soul.

Rather, Minerva had been her sanity. Instead of telling Hermione ridiculous nonsense such as, 'you're parents are in a better place', or 'these things get easier with time', the headmistress had spoken to her plainly, had told her to let it hurt as long as was necessary, and then decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

_Smart woman, that Minerva._

Raising her right hand, Hermione rapped quietly on the office door.

The reply was muffled, though Hermione caught just a thin edge of weariness at the tail end. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Minerva. Please, I need to speak to you. It's important."

She heard a chair scrape against the stone floor and then quiet footsteps slowly approaching. The door opened, the wood creaking.

"Hermione?"

The headmistress looked as beaten down and weary as any woman could without changing her single expression.

"I'm sorry, my hearing is not what it once was. All you alright?"

_Merlin, _Hermione thought, _are you?_

"I'm all right. I'm..., well, Minerva, are _you_ okay?"

The older woman smiled, a rare occasion in and of itself. "I'm fine, dear. This old body doesn't seem to cooperate as much as it once did is all. Please, come in."

Hermione did, walking into the high-vaulted circular room to sit across from the headmistress's desk.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be up this early," Hermione admitted, settling herself into a chair.

Minerva shook her head. "Sleep has become quite elusive these days, I'm afraid. I seem to be keeping all sorts of irregular hours." She, too, sat down in her chair and offered Hermione a candy from Dumbledore's old pewter dish, to which the younger woman politely declined. Steepling her fingers together and raising one eyebrow, Minerva said mildly, "Poppy informed me you were injured yesterday."

There in gathering dawn, Hermione laughed out loud. "A _small_ cut on my forehead. I'd hardly say that qualifies as being 'injured'." She smiled faintly. "Though, it is, partly what I came to talk to you about this morning."

Minerva looked down, studying her hands. "Severus already came to speak with me, if that's what you're getting at."

Hermione sat back in her chair, looking the older woman over, wondering at it. She had images of Severus standing in that very spot, stern and grave, taking the blame on himself entirely.

"He lied to you," Hermione said in a rush. "If he said the ceiling collapse was his fault. It wasn't."

Minerva looked up sharply. "To what purpose would Severus lie? You know that I trust him implicitly, Hermione."

"Because, he's too damn ... masochistic!" She hadn't realized she had leapt to her feet. "You _know_ him, Minerva. He takes every blame on himself. He wasn't the one in charge of watching Worthington. _I was._"

"You know," Minerva said thoughtfully after a moment, when Hermione had calmed down some, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it sounds as though you're trying to protect _him_."

Hermione blinked. "Of course I am! He's wanting to take responsibility for something that isn't his to own up to. If the Board needs to reprimand anyone, Minerva, _it's me_."

"Hermione," the older woman said softly. She got up and came around the desk and sat back on the edge of a corner, pushing back three separate paperweights. "I would never let anything happen to Severus."

There was, Hermione noted irrelevantly, as she sat in complete silence, more gray now than black in the headmistress's tight bun. "I doubted him once, and have vowed never to do so again."

"But the Board -- "

"I will take care of the Board, Hermione." The headmistress' gaze flickered momentarily out the window to the valley beyond and then back to her.

With her head bowed, Hermione muttered, "Thank you. But I want to you know that really, he didn't do anything wrong. It was I that should have been more vigilant."

Minerva cocked her head. "It was Severus who said it was you who reacted quickly, potentially saving dozens of students from serious injury."

"Only because he was on the other side of the room," Hermione retorted mildly. And then she sighed deeply. "I just don't want him to be sacked, Minerva. He's always wanted the job of Defense professor and now, well," she spread her hands out helplessly, "with Voldemort gone, he might actually be able to take some joy in it. I wouldn't deny him that. And the Board," she hesitated, halfway hating herself for using her fame to get what she wanted, "well, the Board most likely loves me – simply for my name, for my association with Harry. Let me take the blame, if I can."

It was, after all, the reason she had come in the first place.

Minerva closed her eyes for a moment and then turned her head and opened them on Hermione, compassion and pride emanating unabashedly. "Well, I'll be," the headmistress said very softly. Hermione looked up and saw a trace of a smile, more in the headmistress' eyes than her lips. They looked at each other for a long moment, and there was a trace of that old gleam in Minerva's eyes.

"I love your heart, Hermione," the older woman said finally, simply.

"Very well said, my dear Minerva," Dumbledore chimed in from his hanging wall portrait. He was smiling fondly over a magazine that could only be what Hermione assumed was a guide to knitting patterns.

"Oh, er, Professor Dumbledore, sir," she started. "I didn't realize that you were awake."

"That's quite alright, my dear. I generally prefer to sing once I wake, though Minerva has informed me it can be rather distracting. Quite happily, it is generally dark when she does so. I hadn't blushed so much since Madame Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs," he sighed dramatically. "Alas, I now tend to keep my singing to the weekends."

Hermione suppressed a smile. "Oh. Well, it _is_ Saturday, sir."

"Is it? Oh my. It's so very easy to lose track of time when you're a painting. Regardless, I am very pleased that someone other than myself and Minerva has taken an interest in Severus' well-being. He's dreadfully dear to me, you must know," he said in amiable tones, turning the page of his magazine.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "Of course."

"Minerva?" Dumbledore asked, putting down his magazine and straightening his half-moon spectacles. "Do you mind if I have a private word with our young Transfiguration professor this morning? It's been far too long since I've had a decent talk with such a lovely young woman – other than yourself, of course."

Hermione looked at the headmistress inquiringly.

"By all means," Minerva said. "There are some items of business that need attending to this morning anyway. But Albus," she added in a warning tone, "don't you dare keep her from breakfast. I don't care if it _is _a Saturday."

"My dear Minerva," Dumbledore said serenely, "I wouldn't dream of it."

Hermione looked up at Dumbledore politely once the headmistress had gathered her things and disappeared down the spiral stairs, her hands folded primly on her lap. "Is there something I can do for you, sir? I'd be glad to, if I could."

Dumbledore smiled fondly. "Oh, my dear child. On the contrary; I wish there was more I could do for_ you_."

"For me, sir?"

"Of course!" He clasped his hands together with more enthusiasm than Hermione thought was capable of a painting. "Much of my time spent while you were a student was with our dear Mr. Potter to prepare him for what he had to undertake." He leaned forward, his blue eyes sincere. "But I watched you closely, Hermione. Oh yes. I knew of your intelligence, of your loyalty. I knew that in Harry's search for Horcruxes you would be an essential part in helping him destroy Tom. Harry, I am quite certain, could not have done it without you." He paused, suddenly looking saddened. "But how well did I truly know the formidable Hermione Granger? Sadly, to my everlasting regret, not as well as I would have hoped."

Hermione's cheeks burned hot with embarrassment. "It's fine, sir. I mean, there were hundreds of students you needed to attend to. And everything came down to Harry. I know that. I never took offense, I assure you."

The old headmaster's bright blue eyes twinkled in the canvas. "But of course! So polite, so polite. Tell me," he leaned forward again, "how are you enjoying your post as the Transfiguration professor?"

Hermione sat a little straighter. "I've loved it, sir. Last year was certainly a challenge, but I feel as though I have more of a handle on what I need to be doing this term." She smiled softly. "It's been good for me, to be a little distracted."

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore with a sudden infinite sadness, "Minerva informed me that your parents were cruelly taken some years ago. I do, of course, offer my heartfelt condolences, despite how empty those words might seem to you."

"I ... well, I appreciate that, sir."

"The Ministry, I take it, hasn't found any leads into the investigation?"

Hermione looked up at him, and shook her head slowly, sighing deeply. "No. It's been far to long, now. While still I hope, I'm not so foolish to dream of _that_. Severus, though," she added quietly, "he's offer to help where he could, where others ... could not."

Dumbledore's smile was all sadness again. "Yes, Severus would, I'm certain. Such a brave and noble heart, he has." And then he cocked his head to the side and gave her a different look. "You're very much like her, you know."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "_Her_, sir?"

Dumbledore looked as though that answer were rather obvious. "Why, Lily Potter, of course."

"Lily!" Hermione chocked. _Perhaps senility can still occur once you've been turned into a moving portrait._ "No, I – I think you must be mistaken, sir. I've seen pictures of Lily Potter. I'm nothing at all like her."

"Whatever do you mean, my dear?"

Hermione frowned. "Isn't it obvious, sir? She was beautiful. Breathtakingly so." _It's no wonder Severus loved her._

Dumbledore removed his spectacles, taking care in the slow, methodical process of cleaning imaginary smudges with the sleeves of his midnight blue robes. "Yes, many argued that was certainly the case. I fail to see, however, how that differs from – "

" – Sir," Hermione interrupted slowly, suddenly uncomfortable, "while I'm certainly not fishing for compliments, I know what I am and what I'm not." She looked down at herself pointedly and spread her arms out. "And I know I don't fit into the genre of women that Lily Potter fell into. I'm not upset about it," she explained, when Dumbledore frowned, "I'm simply realistic."

The painted robes shifted as Dumbledore leaned forward, lips twitching beneath his beard. He was silent for a long moment, looking down at her with a not-unkind expression. "I suppose we are at a stalemate in this particular juncture, Professor Granger. However," he added quietly, "that wasn't necessarily the similarity I was referring to."

She sighed. _Could he be any more vague? _"Sir?"

The headmaster offered a little triumphant smile. "The then Lily Evans was quite accomplished with the majority of her studies – Potions, most notably, of course. That was, perhaps, one of the initial similarities she shared with Severus," he observed, pensively. "Regardless," Dumbledore continued with a soft shrug and smiling eyes, "Lily was loved by the staff and widely acknowledged for her intelligence."

Hermione, of course, knew all of this. Her Grimmauld Place summers had held ample free time with Sirius and Remus, both of whom had known Lily personally. She had listened quietly has Harry asked question after question about his mother. The Marauders, it seemed, were only too happy to oblige, though Hermione thought she had detected, on more than one occasion, a deep, flittering sense of remorse emanating from her former Defense professor's eyes.

"Lily was also," Dumbledore continued with a soft reverence in his voice, "unfailingly kind." He paused and Hermione watched him silently, his face softening a bit. More gently, he continued, "Surely, my dear, you cannot deny the traits you share with her."

She fell silent for a brief moment. What did it mean, any of it? She had a dark suspicion – and if Harry's observance of the old headmaster's knack for meddling were true – this was a line of conversation she was not ready to have with anyone – let alone a portrait.

"I beg your pardon, sir," Hermione said with an odd note in her voice, "but I'm uncertain as to what this has to do with ... well, with anything."

He raised his white eyebrows and gave her a knowing look. "You were always uncommonly bright, my dear," he smiled jovially. "I'd be surprised if you didn't see the connection."

She wouldn't meet his eyes; she didn't answer.

"But I can see," he continued cheerfully after an awkward silence, "that you'd prefer not to speak on the subject, and I shall not force you to."

Hermione slid her arms around herself and turned to look out the window, the dawning sun peaking, at last, over the thick treetops of the Forbidden Forest. "I wonder," she began hesitantly, "Well, I worry, rather ... do you think," she looked up at Dumbledore, her eyes wide and raw, "do you think that he will ever be able to find happiness?"

Dumbledore looked down at her, sitting perfectly still, as if he were fixing her in his mind. She was certain he understood the _he_ to which she was referring. "Oh, Hermione," he said finally, and his face was all sorrow again. "I certainly hope so."

* * *

In the silent half-dark of the dawning morning, Severus paced the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, pausing periodically to look out where the lake and Quidditch pitch would have been if, in fact, there had been enough light to see that far. Not able to make out much of anything, he took a deep breath and resumed his pacing.

The past twenty-four hours had kept his keen mind churning without reprieve. His stomach felt sick, or hungry; he couldn't tell. The image of his classroom ceiling imploding played again and again before his visual recall. He closed his eyes, sickened. Students could have been killed. Herm – Professor Granger could have been killed. He had been both relieved and terrified that Minerva had been awake when he knocked on her door at that ungodly hour, attempting to explain himself. But ultimately, he had come to take full responsibility for his actions; better for Minerva to hear it from his own mouth than from a gossiping student.

After all, _h__e _had been the one who had requested the dueling club. _He _had been the professor in charge of the classroom. And it was _he_ who would have been ultimately responsible if something worse had happened besides the few scratches and bruises Poppy had reported.

_How is it that everything I touch is met with death?_

Deep in the spread of that desolation, he resumed his pacing. He was still fighting the bitter foretaste of shame when his thoughts strayed, as they seemed to so very often these days, to the Transfiguration professor. He sighed deeply. He was too tired to admit anything but the truth to himself.

Hermione Granger fascinated him.

And _more _than that, he knew. He shook his head, wishing it would stop pounding. And what else was there to admit to himself that was so embarrassing? The woman was intelligent – frighteningly so. Everyone knew this; he simply acknowledged the fact. She was also genuine. Compassionate. Surely, Minerva or any of the staff would agree with him. He paused and looked out at the lake, flecks of sunlight only just appearing on the calm surface.

Again, he thought of her, and mentally kicked himself.

Because this was his shame. He thought Hermione Granger to be exquisitely and heart-stoppingly beautiful. She was grace, in name and in essence.

_You're an old pervert, Severus. You could easily be her father._

"I'm disgusting," he whispered to himself as he paused, once more, in front of the bay windows.

Hermione had wandered into his heart quietly, below his radar. It disturbed him to be aware of it himself. But whatever his denial, whatever his shame, it _was_ there.

But it could never be, he knew. He was homely and old, a former professor of hers. And as if _that_ wasn't enough, his soul continued to fester away from the deeds he had once committed as a Death Eater. Unconsciously, standing there, he rubbed his left forearm. The realization and acceptance of Hermione into his beaten and weary heart had startled him more than anything. In the novels he had read, this was generally the part where the characters went into merciful shock and then fell asleep for twelve hours.

It didn't, so far, seem to apply to former Death Eaters.

He sighed and rubbed his temples with his index and middle fingers. Outside the office door, he heard the padding and mumbling of a few students, early to get to the Great Hall for breakfast. Fingering his wand and sitting back on the top of his desk he thought back to his own days as a student, and, of course, of Lily.

_Lily._

It was Lily who had unknowingly kept him an honest person, long after her death. There was a part of his heart, he was certain, that would always love her, but she had never been _his _to love freely. No. She had always been Potter's. And in death, he knew, she was Potter's. He would never love her as a man is meant to love a woman. And oddly, now, as he sat in the silence of his dark office, he felt some peace in that. It was no longer love with bitterness. Lily had given him what he needed to survive as a Death Eater. But she was an untouchable; unreachable. She lived only in his mind and heart, watching over him, perhaps; but never a physical entity he could love.

The guilt of her death had nearly destroyed him in the beginning, and he was certain it would have, if not for Dumbledore. But he had kept his promise. He had protected Potter, had made it possible for him to do what he had been born to do from that damnable prophesy. And in a sense, now, he was free. Not free from the horrors of his memories, or his dark demons – no, he would never be free of those. But he was free, at last, to move forward and to be his own man; to do, essentially, whatever he wished.

And somehow, at the forefront of that thought, Hermione Granger's image ambushed him.

_No._

Even if ... even _if_ she was so foolish as to think of him in _that _way, he would never allow it. _I would bring her more pain than joy._ He would never plan for that, to inflict his darkness willingly on another. No. He would watch her from afar, would protect her where he could, and that would be enough. The even improbable possibility that she might reciprocate his feelings must never be allowed to come to fruition. That decision gave him some small measure of peace, stilling his thoughts and imagination from running wildly away.

Severus opened his eyes and looked around his office, sunlight filtering in onto his normally pristine desk. It was cluttered now with parchments and quills, texts and ink pots that he would have normally cleared away. Very precisely he stood, absolutely still, and stared out across the room. He gave himself a few seconds to ponder over his decision, and then, feeling for his wand in his robes, walked out his office door and warded it behind him.

* * *

She was already at breakfast when he got there, sitting quietly at the Head Table next to Vector as she buttered some toast.

He sighed internally. She was wearing those green robes he had found so puzzling, yet oddly stunning. "But I like green," she explained once, shrugging, when he questioned the reference to Slytherin. "Harry and Ron would have killed me if I wore any shade remotely close to green when we were at school, but I've always thought it was a lovely color."

_Lovely, indeed._

He swept by her and sat down at the other end of the table, adamantly refusing to sit in the open chair next to her.

She looked up as he passed and smiled softly.

"Good morning, Severus," she said brightly.

His lips twitched briefly. "Good morning."

He wanted to ask her about her head, to see if she had any lingering pain from having a piece of a dragon skull slice into it. Sitting down and unfolding his napkin to place in his lap, he held his peace.

"Ah, Severus," Minerva said as she took the space next to him, slowly lowering her arthritic body into the huge chair. "I trust you slept well?"

He reached for the jam. "Not particularly, Minerva."

She cocked her head at him. "But surely after our conversation this morning you know that there will not be any retribution from the Board of Governors." She fixed him with a pointed gaze. "What ails you?"

"I'm generally a fitful sleeper," he lied easily, pouring himself a drink.

"_Severus_," Minerva warned, not taking the bait. "I've known you most of your life, you know. You may have been able to fool your Dark Lord," she stabbed a slice of fruit with her fork rather vengefully, "but you are _not_ fooling me."

_Curse the woman, and all Gryffindors._

He blinked but said nothing, instead reaching for generous helping of bacon.

"Does it surprise you, Severus?" The headmistress asked with a small amount of asperity. "That so many would protect you from the Board?"

Severus snorted. "_So many_?" he echoed. "While I appreciate your influence, Minerva, I do not dare to hope that you have some little organized group with a banner to assist _me_. Unless," he back peddled with feigned hesitance, taking care to chew his bacon deliberately, "this is the new motto for the Order of the Phoenix."

"I do not appreciate your sarcasm, Severus," Minerva bit out. "I was referring to Hermione Granger."

Severus stiffened and slowly set his fork down, turning to look at the headmistress directly. He was silent a long moment. "If you have something to say, use the so-called _courage_ of your House and _say_ it."

Minerva gave him a coy smile. With her fork and knife, she cut a piece of fruit down to a more malleable size. "I only meant to emphasize that there are others who would stand with you, Severus. You always act as though you must go at everything alone, that the most difficult course is the only one God ever gives you."

Severus started, surprised. He had not known Minerva to be a religious woman.

She looked down at the amber liquid of her morning tea and sighed. "Hermione was in my office, not twenty minutes ago, pleading that I ask the Board to not sack you."

He froze, feeling strangely like a man wandering through his home who suddenly saw a new door unfold out of the wall in front of him.

He looked up wordlessly at the older woman.

"Does this surprise you, Severus?"

He scowled, moving the food on his plate without making move to eat. "No, Minerva, it does not. Hermione Granger," he paused, looking over his shoulder to make certain the younger woman was not listening, "has always been like a single shinning blade with a purpose, grabbing any idea or cause and running with it, too often forgetting the inconvenient details."

"If you're referring to her house elf liberation act, Severus, the poor girl was merely fourteen," Minerva puffed. "I'd say she's come quite far since then."

He snorted again, checking once more to make certain no one was eavesdropping. Hermione was talking animatedly with Hagrid, while simultaneously attempting to help him remove a few bread crumbs from his beard. "That is irrelevant. She does not need to waste her time or efforts protecting me. If the Board wishes to sack me, she thinks too highly of herself if she feels one small word from her will dictate _my _sentencing. As we both know, Minerva," he said wryly, sipping his drink, "my track record is, shall we say, _less _than perfect?"

A little abashed, Minerva fell silent.

After a brief pause, Severus smirked. "Beware of meddling, Minerva. You're not nearly as subtle as Dumbledore."

"Oh, I apologize, Severus," the headmistress immediately threw back, "forgive me for making you aware that others, besides myself, see goodness in you."

Sharp-tongued as ever, Severus was ready with another retort when, jerking his head in a double take, he caught Oliver Wood out of the corner of his peripheral vision, sauntering up to Hermione with a confident swagger.

Unsure if it was a conscience decision or not, his black eyes narrowed to thin slits.

"Morning, Hermione," he heard the boy say cheerfully, making his way around the Head Table and resting his rear end on the edge closest to the Transfiguration professor. "Fancy a ride around the Quidditch pitch this morning?"

Hermione, momentarily chocking on her morning pumpkin juice, appeared visibly flustered. "Oh, Oliver, I ... I don't know. I've never been ... partial to flying." She looked around a little panicky. "Surely, you know that."

Unperturbed, the boy scooted closer. "Aw, I won't let anything happen to you, Hermione. Don't you trust me? I teach first years how to use a broom everyday; I'll be safe, I promise."

Hagrid, the bumbling idiot, deemed it time to pipe in. "Go on then, 'Ermione! It'd do you good to get some fresh air, it would! Oliver's one o' best fliers I've ever seen! Great flyer, he is!" He reached out with his massive hand and thumped Hermione on the back, practically crushing her between her chair and the table.

Severus made to get to his feet when he felt a hand on his forearm.

"Don't, Severus," Minerva said, not unkindly. "You claim you don't need her to look after you." She smiled sadly. "I daresay she would make the same affirmation."

He scowled deeply but said nothing. To his side, just down the table, Hermione was pleading her case.

"Really, Oliver, it's not as though I'm not willing to try it – I _have_. Loads of times. I've given it a fair chance and each time it truly – "

" – yeah, but you've never flown with me," the brat interrupted. "It was probably with Potter or Weasley, am I right? And since Potter was a great Seeker, he probably took you too high. Yes?" He saw Hermione sitting silently, likely replaying whatever flying incident she had endured with Potter at the forefront of her visual recall. "And Weasley?" Wood continued, "He was a Keeper, wasn't he? Keepers are the worst sort of fliers," he smirked, "with myself being the exception. They generally lack skill and finesse. I imagine that ride would have been rather bumpy and uncomfortable, eh?"

He saw Hermione swallow and nod, ever so slightly.

"Come on," Wood pushed, reaching his hand out for her to take, "one ride is all I'm asking. If you hate it, I'll never pester you again. I swear it."

He saw her hesitate, considering the boy's words. It occurred to Severus, as he watched her ponder the brat's offer, that he truly and deeply wanted to hex Oliver Wood to wipe that pretentious grin off his pathetic face.

"Do you promise," he heard Hermione say hesitantly, "to not do any ... ," she waved her little hands in the air, " ... any tricks or anything? Nothing showy or fancy?"

Wood stood and crossed his heart with a triumphant smirk. "I promise."

Hermione glanced briefly over her shoulder and caught Severus' eyes, holding them. There was something pleading and pathetic there, but Minerva was right. He would not give her the satisfaction. The woman was an adult. If she truly did not wish to go flying with Wood, she would tell the boy so. If she was so eager to throw herself at the idiot, she would not get any pity or sympathy from him.

And so, he regarded her blandly, appearing utterly unfazed.

_Go. Fly with the dimwit for all I care._

There was a brief flicker of panic and remorse that flittered across her brown eyes as she swallowed, and turned finally to Wood, who was helping her out of her chair like a pompous ass. And as several more students filed into the Great Hall and chatted amiably with one another while they set about to eating their breakfast, Hermione and Wood headed in the opposite direction to the huge double doors and out into the Entrance Hall.

* * *

The autumn air was freezing.

Hermione rubbed her arms vigorously as she stumbled after Oliver toward the pitch while he droned on about the 'art' of Quidditch. She was annoyed with herself for giving in and simultaneously terrified of what lay ahead.

_But what more could I have done? _

Oliver had begged her to fly with him practically every time he saw her except, it occurred to her now, for the times she was with Severus. Better to go with him now and get it over with than face an entire school year of trying to avoid him. Still, the thought did little to calm her nerves.

And Severus, she sighed, breathing warm air into her cupped hands, the look in his eyes when she met them had hurt more than she expected it to. A part of her, the wishful part, had hoped he would have somehow come to her aid. Perhaps he would have told Oliver to sod off, already, as it was blatantly obvious she hated the sport. Rita Skeeter had even gone so far as to take it upon herself to write an article about the lone female member of the _Golden Trio's_ phobia. Hermione frowned, remembering the ridiculous excerpt. Or maybe Severus could have merely scowled at him – heaven knew the effect his facial expressions had on first years.

But he had sat there, as unmovable and expressionless as ever. And she found that despite the way her heart inexplicably ached, she couldn't blame him. No. She would not blame him for her decision and expect him to, for all intents and purposes, _rescue _her.

She didn't want, or need to be rescued by anyone.

Hermione was at the pitch before she realized it, wind whipping at her hair and robes. Without thinking, without talking, she let Oliver lead her by the hand to the Quidditch locker rooms as he continued to talk about ... whatever. Unsurprisingly, he didn't seem to notice or care that she was virtually unresponsive.

" – and that's how I came to end up at Puddlemere United, though my folks always thought I'd end up with another club," he paused and shrugged cheerfully. "But I was happy there." He was silent for a moment, folding his arms as he gave her an appraising look from the bottom of her boots to where her robes tied at her neck.

On impulse, Hermione clutched the tie.

"So," he said with eagerness, ignoring her discomfort, "do you have any particular broom you'd prefer to ride?"

"Er, nothing too fancy."

_Preferably something slow, like the old mare you let your children ride; the one that'll be on her way out to the glue factory before long._

He chuckled. "Well, that's no fun, is it? How about a Firebolt?"

"No," Hermione shook her head insistently. "I may not follow the sport, but I _do _know the Firebolt is the fastest broom in the world. You _promised_ a slow ride," she accused, "so there's no sense in getting on ... on _that_."

Oliver laughed again. "Ah, but it's the precision and streamlining abilities that make it worth the ride, despite the speed. Come on – "

"_No._"

He held up his hands, feigning surrender. "All right, all right," he smirked. "There's no need to be cranky. Let's see," he glanced over to a wall that held more brooms than could be counted. "What about the Comet Two Ninety?"

Hermione didn't know enough about brooms to know what that particular series of broom meant, but the fact that it wasn't the Firebolt was enough to sell her on it.

"Alright."

Oliver smiled and easily took the broom down from the wall. "Perfect."

Hermione eyed the object with great distaste as they made their way back out to the pitch. It certainly didn't appear_ too_ dangerous – Harry's Nimbus 2000 had seemed more impressive, if she recalled correctly, before the Whomping Willow effectively turned it into a giant toothpick.

Once they were on the field, Oliver set the broom out, letting it hover at the correct height for her to mount it.

"You're not going to get on it first?" she asked nervously.

"Nah, give it a try. It won't bite you, Hermione."

_Says you._

"I think I'd prefer if you got on – "

" – Just get on the broom, Hermione."

Grumbling to herself, she stepped forward slowly, taking care to make sure her wand was securely pocketed in her robes, and then reached with a shaky hand to grasp the handle. Quite happily, it didn't move or shift under her touch. With clammy palms, she swung her left leg over to the other side and leaned forward to clutch the handle as though it were her very life line.

"See?" Oliver said smugly when she opened her eyes, not really knowing she had shut them in the first place. "It's not so bad."

_Dear God, _Hermione thought as she felt Oliver hop onto the broom behind her and pull her back to him, _please don't let me die._

"Alright," he said cheerfully. "Ready?"

She swallowed. "Well ... I, maybe just give me a minute to – "

But she cut herself off with a sharp, high-pitched scream as Oliver kicked off from the ground and launched them into the sky. Her arms convulsed momentarily, trying to discover which method of clinging to the handle was most effective. The acceleration was fierce and hard. The world dropped, her stomach tightened. For a moment, her voice was lost to her, and though she desperately wanted to scream, she could not.

Oliver banked around the south hoops, and Hermione was certain she'd have whiplash. There was only the freezing wind on her face as the pitch dropped away below them. A moment later, her breath finally caught up with her, and she did scream.

"Ha, ha!" Oliver shouted happily behind her. "So what do you think?" He dropped to a hard dive, whirling close to the stands.

"Please," Hermione pleaded, tears stinging her eyes, "I ... I'm scared. Please stop!" Oliver sped along, the Forbidden Forest springing to life below them. "I want, I want to get off. Please. I ... I, oh, Merlin, please! This is too fast!"

"You're fine!" Oliver shouted into her ear. "You're not going to fall, just relax! There's a cushioning charm and – "

" – No, I want to get off. Now." They banked over the blackness of the woods. "Please, Oliver!"

"I _won't_ let anything happen to you!" he countered, and pulled up hard to swerve back to the pitch. "You have to trust me. Just enjoy it!"

But Hermione couldn't think coherently. The roaring panic in her head drowned out all else. She looked at the handle, ludicrously, as they barreled recklessly through the sky, to see if she could take control of the thing and force Oliver to land.

_I'm going to die. I'm going to die, _she thought distantly, as Oliver swept them into a barrel roll, trying to figure out which way was up. On reflex, she threw her weight forward as she struggled to grip the handle more tightly, and without warning, she threw the broom into a nose dive.

"Hermione, no!" Oliver screamed, nearly on top of her as they began a reckless spiral to the ground.

And everything that followed happened in agonizingly slow but perfect clarity. The earth sprang out before them in a blur as the grounds became horribly closer with each passing moment. And before Hermione knew or could understand what was happening, she felt her feet flip over her back and she toppled forward over the front of the broom. She lost the grip on the handle, spinning into a free fall.

In the next instant she slammed into the ground. The shock immediately passed through her body and in the next moment the pain registered - _oh, God, please - _and she heaved her chest, struggling for the breath that would not come.

Dimly, through the ringing in her ears, she heard Oliver shouting, "Hermione? Oh, Merlin. Hermione! Can you hear me? Can you breathe?"

_How the hell did you stay on the broom? _she tried to say, thought she couldn't hear herself over the ringing in her ears. Her chest heaved once, twice – too many times to count –before she finally was able to suck in a deep gulp of air, momentarily easing her burning lungs. She rolled over and tried to get to her hands and knees, but gravity pulled her the wrong way, and she fell down and hit the earth at an unexpected angle. There was blood in her mouth.

Nothing was working right. There was an inexplicable ringing in her ears and her vision kept blacking in and out; someone was rolling her onto her back, and she felt hands lifting her into a sitting position. _No,_ she wanted to cry out, as her stomach cramped and she fought for breath again, _just lay me back down. Please lay me back down. _

As if from far a way she heard a man's voice, shouting, enraged. Though irate, it was familiar and oddly comforting. Hurried footsteps sounded nearby and as she struggled to breathe in her sitting position, Oliver's hands at her back. Her vision cleared a little as the blood went back to her head and she saw, of all things, the unthinkably harrowing sight of Severus Snape fast approaching.

Severus did not seem to notice Oliver fidgeting next to her, trying to sit her upright properly while doing everything in his power to avoid the older man's gaze. Severus saw not, for his black eyes had found Hermione. He didn't speak. His silence came by way of yet unadulterated, heaving rage.

At last he reached her, and Oliver let her fall back to the ground as he scooted out of the way, mumbling apologies and explanations. Severus reached forward and clasped Hermione to him as she tried to sit. To do so, he used only one hand. The other, Oliver noted clinically, encased his ebony wand in an icy grip.

"_Hermione_," he said softly, crushing her face to his neck.

She knew she was almost blubbering, but she couldn't stop herself. "Oh ... _Severus._"

Her fingers clung into his black robes as he held her, leaning over her until she coughed, wheezing painfully. He pulled back, his face twisted up wrong as he took stock of her injuries.

"Your neck," Severus said, as he cushioned the delicate area with his long fingers, "does it hurt to move it?"

Hermione considered that. She tilted her head gingerly from one side to the other. "I don't ... I don't think it's broken, if that's what you mean." Her jaw felt thick, trying to talk.

For the moment, Severus set his wand down and held up his hand, still supporting her neck with the other. "How many fingers do you count?"

She tried sincerely to focus, and sluggishly, it happened. His two fingers swam around in front of her face and then grew clear. "Thirteen, at least."

Something in his dark eyes unclenched slightly, but then he tilted his head away from her and looked up at Oliver.

"She grabbed the broom wrong," she heard him explaining. "She ... she put us in a tailspin; there wasn't anything I could do."

"And _yet_," Severus said, his voice frighteningly calm, "you managed to land _yourself_ safely."

"I ..."

"If you value your life, _Wood, _you will shut your mouth. I will deal with you later."

Oliver saw Severus lower his chin, and the gesture was not misunderstood. A reckoning was to later occur.

Turning his full attention back to Hermione, Severus asked softly, "Can you stand?"

She nodded her head, but when he lifted her from the ground, her legs buckled. Deftly, with the matter-of-factness of one who had done it a thousand times, he helped her arms about his neck, and then stooped and lifted her.

"Wait," she protested weakly. She swallowed and tasted blood. "If ... if you give me a moment, I can try to walk."

But Severus would not release her. "No."

She closed her eyes and felt a rush of dizziness again, and was a bit ashamed to feel hot tears welling up. Her stomach lurched as they continued to move toward the castle, more slowly now, as he ascended a steep incline.

"What happened?" Severus whispered, as if he didn't trust himself to speak aloud. "I saw the fall, but ... " he shook his head, not able to finish the sentence.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered over the lump in her throat. "I didn't ... I didn't want to. I just," she coughed hard and sucked in a deep breath, "I thought if I went, he'd leave me alone, that he wouldn't ask me again." She leaned her face against his chest and suddenly the outside temperature felt cooler. "I didn't ... I'm sorry."

She felt him pull her closer, and in the heat and quiet strength of his body, she thought of what a comfort it would be for a child's fear or grief to be held in such a way.

"Shhh, don't talk," he murmured into her hair. "I know you must be uncomfortable, but I dare not levitate you. If something is broken, it could cause you greater pain to be suspended in the air. I will have you to Poppy as fast as I am able."

They were their own force as they reached the castle. Oliver, at least, had the presence of mind to dash ahead and open the huge entrance doors, stepping back against them so Severus could enter without incident. Several students were mingling and laughing in the Entrance Hall. Most froze upon seeing their Defense Professor, gasping and pointing in shock as he swept past them with the limp form of a woman in his arms. Severus paid them no heed, taking the marble stairs two at a time as Oliver sprinted ahead, rushing to inform Poppy of their arrival.

The journey up the stairs seemed painfully slow to Hermione, a crusade in and of itself. After what seemed to be an eternity, she heard Poppy in the distance, bustling out towards them and shouting all sorts of questions to Severus. _She thinks I'm unconscious, _Hermione mused, unable to force her eyes open to let the healer know otherwise.

"Good gracious, Severus! What happened?"

Hermione felt herself being shifted and then gently lowered onto a mattress, and though the cushioning was soft, she sucked in an involuntary sharp breath as her bruised back took the weight of her body.

"Hermione?" Severus asked, his voice quiet yet firm, his breath nearly at her ear. "Can you hear me?"

The shock of pain from the initial fall had at first had been so real, so forceful, that she thought she had surely felt the worst of it. With each breath, however, she felt her lungs burning in a frantic protest. _God,_ _please__ ... _It took an agonizingly long moment for her mouth to open and say feebly, "Yes, I ... I can hear you."

"In answer to your question, Poppy," Severus snarled, each word enunciated with a precise venom, "you likely need to speak with _Wood_." There was movement in the distance and it occurred to Hermione that poor Oliver was likely backing into one of the wall's corners. "As for a brief explanation, she fell from a great height."

"How high?" the healer demanded, coaxing Hermione's head slightly upright to administer a potion.

"I cannot say for certain. I was just stepping onto the grounds." Severus had gone completely still above her and Hermione sensed the Defense professor's attention again falling on Oliver. "How high _was_ it, Wood?"

There was a shuffle, somewhere far off, and then the sound of a chair scrapping over the stone floor. "Er, I don't know for sure ... "

"Then _guess_, dammit!"

"Severus!" Poppy admonished. "Let him speak!"

Again, a slight pause. "I'd guess ... seven or eight meters maybe."

"Sweet Merlin," Poppy declared, bustling to her storage cabinet. When the healer returned, Hermione could feel the flutter of magic above her as Poppy performed a few diagnostic spells. In the lull of the bleak morning, Poppy leaned forward and asked gently, "Hermione, dear, where is the pain the greatest?"

_Everywhere?_

"It ... it hurts to breathe."

With the little remaining energy she still possessed, Hermione managed to opened her eyes_. _The morning light burned through the windows of the Hospital Wing with an intensity that was nearly blinding. But above her, as if half in silhouette, Severus was looking over her, his black eyes bottomless and raw.

Her own eyes, she noted embarrassingly, were blurring with tears.

"Severus?" Poppy was asking from somewhere behind her, "if you're able, I'll require some assistance. Oliver? You may leave."

"I really am sorry," she heard him mutter. And through her blurry vision she saw a figure slowly retreat, followed by the sound of the tall doors of the Hospital Wing opening and closing again.

"Hermione, dear, look at me," Poppy said quietly. And miraculously, it happened. Her vision cleared enough through her tears to see the school matron's face looking worriedly down at her. "I'm going to have Severus help me move you onto your stomach. I fear your back may have suffered severe physical trauma with a fall from that height. It will be uncomfortable," she warned, not without sympathy, "but the sooner I examine you, the sooner I can sedate you and give you a sleeping draught."

Hermione blinked, willing the tears away. "Alright."

Logically speaking, she knew she should have understood the orders Poppy was now barking at Severus, but somehow, oddly, her brain was having a difficult time computing much of anything. When Severus stood up from the chair beside her and set his hands at her side, _that _she felt.

He bent and whispered softly in her ear, "Forgive me. I will do my best not to cause you more pain."

And before he gave her a moment to think on it, to utter any response at all, he had bent and was lifting her, shifting her onto her side.

She gasped, sucking in painfully as her muscles protested the movement. "I am sorry," Severus whispered as he flipped her over, his own voice sounding pained.

_Stars in the morning,_ Hermione thought, as her vision blacked in and out. Convulsively, she flung her left arm out, reaching wildly for something to grab a hold of, something to get a handle on, and strangely, she felt a cool, rough, hand reach out and clamp around her own. It was coarse and calloused, and precisely not a hair too tight.

"Now then," said Poppy from somewhere above her, "I'll give you a few moments to relax and then I'm going examine your back."

Hermione nodded, her cheek smashed against an uncomfortably flat pillow. She felt Severus' hand give her a reassuring squeeze.

"Alright then, Hermione?" Poppy asked after a few moments.

Her breathing more regular, Hermione felt slightly calmer. The previous panic dissipated with each second as Severus ran his fingertips over her palm.

"Okay."

"I'll need to see your back, Hermione," the healer paused slightly. "Perhaps you should leave now, Severus."

Hermione shook her head as best she could. "No, it's alright. He can stay." _Please stay, _she added silently.

"Very well," said Poppy, shooting Severus a strange glance. "In a moment you'll feel a slightly odd sensation."

True to the matron's word, Hermione felt her robes ripping at the seams on her back, peeling back layer by layer until her bare skin was at last exposed to the cool room air. She inhaled, shivering.

"My word," Poppy declared, taking in the damage of her patient's back. "You've strained your lumbar ligaments at the very least," she stated, running her wand along the length of Hermione's spine. "I'd suspect the ligaments have torn right off their attachments." She waved her wand in a counterclockwise motion. "The nerves are pinching together; you're lucky your spinal cord didn't snap in two."

_Yeah. Feeling really lucky right about now._

"Lie still, dear. It will take me a moment to repair the nerve damage."

Hermione forced herself to restrict her movements, trying her best to ignore the pinching pain in her back, and choosing instead to focus on the sensation of Severus' hand in hers.

Whatever potion Poppy had administered to Hermione when she was first brought into the Hospital Wing was now working its magic; her eyes felt heavy and she let them drift close while the school matron fretted to Severus. 'Intracranial bleeding' and 'spinal trauma' were words that would have likely given her concern had she been completely coherent, but with the potion working its effects as it slowly spread into her stomach and Severus' strangely comforting touch at her trembling hand, she wanted nothing more to lie still with her eyes closed and fall into the merciful realm that was sleep.

She was just drifting off when, without warning, the door to the Hospital Wing flew open, swinging around and slamming hard into the stone wall. Eyes flashing open, Hermione wondered if hallucinations fell into either side effect of an intracranial bleed or spinal trauma. For standing with heaving chests in the entryway, looking frightened beyond any recent recollection, stood Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

* * *

It wasn't his intent to follow her.

No, Severus was many things, most of them repulsive. He knew that. A stalker or 'creep', however, he felt he was not. Still, his feet seemed to move on their own accord as he made his way through the Main Hall. He was angry at himself for his instant loss of appetite. The moment Wood and Hermione had left the High Table, he had, strangely, no desire to finish his breakfast and had thrown his fork and knife down rather emphatically.

_You're a fool, Severus. After everything, _this _is what you've become._

Before he could pause and take in his surroundings, he was through the Entrance Hall and out the massive front doors, ignoring Minerva's disapproving gaze completely.

_Merlin, you're becoming obsessed._

Slightly sickened with himself, he paused on the grounds, feeling the brisk chill of the October morning breeze. _Turn around, Severus. She doesn't need you. _

A moment later, he heard her scream.

It was not the fake scream of an idiotic woman on a muggle roller coaster. No. No, it was a scream of sheer panic and terror. Without realizing the full implications of what he was doing, he had broken into a fierce run. The pitch was far and there was a demanding stitch in his side as he flew down the hill, but he slowed not. His logical mind made a brief consideration that nothing was amiss; Hermione was terrified of flying. Wood could easily be showing off some imbecilic move as she screamed in panic. She could be fine.

Another scream sounded, this one off the pitch.

_I'll kill him._

Clutching his wand as he dodged around the hostile topography, the cold placidity of Severus' face would have been more horrific to Wood than any other expression he might have conjured. Reaching the bottom of the hill, whirling in every direction to find them, he spotted them at last, coming about from the direction of the Forbidden Forest. His heart leapt into his throat, however, as Severus watched them spiral into a dive, and Hermione, who had been seated in the front, fell foot over head and slammed into the ground with frightening speed.

Without a moment of contemplation, Severus was running again, the roaring panic in his head drowning out all else. After an eternity he saw them; Wood was foolishly struggling to heave Hermione into a sitting position.

"Do NOT move her!" he screamed as he drew himself to a hard stop, nearly tripping over his own feet. "You could paralyze her, you fool!"

_Do Gryffindors _ever_ think?_

"Er, I just was trying to sit her up – I don't think she can breath," he panicked.

"Out of my way," Severus snapped, kneeling into the cool earth. "Before you do any _more_ damage."

"She grabbed the broom wrong," Wood muttered. "She ... she put us in a tailspin; there wasn't anything I could do."

"And _yet,_" his voice frighteningly calm, "you managed to land _yourself _safely."

"I ... "

"If you value your life, _Wood, _you will shut your mouth. I will deal with you later."

He almost was afraid to look at Hermione, for fear of what witnessing her injuries would make him do. He had no desire to abandon her to the mercies of the brisk morning air while he chased after Wood and murdered the boy. At length, however, he allowed himself to look at her fully with the sternest of wills. He could see swollen bruises already forming on the side of her face and angry red scratches upon her neck. Her lip was swollen and bore a deep cut.

She was wincing slightly, trying to get a handle on her breathing. Her breath steamed in the chill air. _Thank God,_ he thought, pulling her close to him, _she's not paralyzed. _His relief was short lived, however, for she began to cry softly against him. Feeling as though he might literally vomit, he focused on clearing his mind and tried to shun the normal human panic responses.

Whatever good that was doing. His heart was pounding in his throat – his emotions, slipping out of his grasp.

_Stay calm. _

Supporting her delicately soft neck, he asked, "How many fingers do you count?"

She struggled for a moment, her breathing shallow. But eventually she murmured, "Thirteen, at least."

He wanted to laugh out loud, to shake off the rolling tension and thank whatever celestial force was watching over them that she retained the cognition to offer a bad joke. He asked her if she could stand, and when it was evident she could not, he stooped and wrapped his arms around her knees and back, folding her into his arms. He didn't know how he managed to get to Hogwarts – he just kept moving; one foot in front of the other.

Her wiry little arms had tightened around him, until they might have squeezed the air out of another man. He merely held on with all his strength, trying to anchor her to him. Her body was trembling.

_Almost there, _he thought as he took the marble stairs, ignoring the students looking at him with a mixture of fear and shock. He pressed her head closer to his chest, ignoring the burning strain of his arms and back.

Poppy was a force of her own, declaring – in a moment of true obviousness – that Hermione needed immediate medical attention. Everything passed in a whirlwind, until Poppy had asked him to leave. Simultaneously, he heard Hermione asking him to stay, while he realized he had been holding her trembling little hand as she lay on her stomach. Touched and dumbfounded, he forced himself not to wince as the healer removed Hermione's robes from the waist up, revealing royal purple bruises along the length of her spine.

Not knowing what other comfort her could offer, he folded her tiny hand in his own and squeezed it tightly.

An instant later, the door to the Hospital Wing slammed open, and before he could draw his wand and whirl around in a fury of black robes, he met the eyes of Lily Evans in Potter, who was standing breathlessly, Weasley beside him.

_How could they have already known of Hermione?_

"What is the meaning of this, Potter?" Severus demanded, not releasing Hermione's hand.

"What happened to Hermione?" Weasley asked, his blue eyes widening as he rushed into the room.

"Potter! Weasley!" Poppy snapped. "I will not have you in hear while I'm attending to a patient. Whatever you need to say to Hermione will have to wait. Out of here! Both of you –now!"

Potter was looking around with confusion until he met Severus' eyes.

"We have a situation, sir."

Very precisely, Severus swallowed.

"The world does not stop for you, Potter. You heard Poppy. Leave this instant and – "

"We found the Malfoys."

* * *

_A/N: So, I feel as though I updated a little more quickly this time. I truly am trying! This chapter has been my favorite to write so far - I completely forgot how fun it was to write Snape. Heaven only knows what I've been thinking in the previous chapters ... writing strictly from Hermione's POV. Snape's always a little tricky, though, so if I managed to pull off his true character here, we'll see about writing his POV more often. Merlin, how I love that man. :) One little thing - Dumbledore's line where he talks about Poppy embarrassing him with his earmuffs - that's our lovely JKR from the S.S. I was rereading the first book and came across that line, literally laughed out loud, and knew I had to throw it in here somewhere. Comments, as usual, are always appreciated. Thanks for all the encouraging reviews so far! I LOVE looking in my inbox and see the review alert ... ah, it's the simple things in life that get us through, no? _

_On a completely unrelated note, is anyone else happy that it's finally autumn? I live in the western U.S. and the leaves in the mountains are just starting to turn ... simply gorgeous. I love fall. :)_

_Love to you all,_

_- Liz_


	12. Chapter 12

Notice of periodic hiatus for _Memento Mori_.

I really hope I don't receive a lot of hate mail for this. Of course, I'm not entirely sure how popular MM is. _Memento Mori_ will briefly be on hiatus for a few reasons. (And I say briefly, because I hope to return to it as soon as I am able.)

Firstly, and well ... _mainly_, is I've simply written myself into a wall. I had an idea about how and where MM would progress and somehow it's ended up in a different place. While this isn't necessarily a bad thing, I express my second concern.

I feel as though, at the rate I'm currently going, that MM is simply another version of _Requiem of a Dream_. Now, whether or not you've read that fic is irrelevant. It bothers me endlessly that my plots are mirroring one another in an almost identical fashion. This, obviously, is simply lack of experience or talent on my part. I loved writing Req, and I've immensely enjoyed MM, but, at present, I feel as though they are flowing into the same story.

Obviously, this is NOT what I want.

My love for HG/SS fics led me to start with MM, to try to take a different turn on the Hermione/Snape relationship, and the way I've been going with it, I'm terrified it will turn into a modified version of Req.

So .... (please don't hate me!) I've decided to momentarily take a step back and rework the plot of MM to see if we can get it to go different places than Req. I only add this "chapter" for the sole purpose of not leaving the wonderful reviewers that have been so incredibly kind and generous to me hanging. If you currently are invested in this fic, I cannot express to you how deeply sorry I am. And again, I would like to stress that I plan to return to MM. I'm the sort of writer that needs to step back from something completely and let it sit for a bit while my mind imagines other possibilities or ... start thinking about something else entirely.

Thus, my third reason. I've had, for a few months now, a new idea for a HG/SS fic that is _completely _different from both Req and MM. Alas, I cannot get this idea out of my head and I feel as though it has affected my writing with MM. So ... (deep breath) my current plan is to simply start writing this story, to get my thoughts down, and by doing that, I hope to clear my head a little for MM.

This may or not make any sense, but in my little, amateur mind I see it as the only way of going forward. I love MM too much to simply bosh it, to write it too quickly to get on with my other project, without giving it the time and consideration that I truly want to.

Again, I have to thank all of you reviewers for your continued support and comments. I only hope that as I continue forward with this new project, and then later return to MM when the muse makes its appearance again, that I will see many of you on the other side, your wonderful reviews and comments making my day like they always have.

I truly love and appreciate you all,

-Liz


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